


For the Times I've Missed

by SideraSkotadi



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Family, Friendship, Multi, Road Trips, Romance, scavenger hunt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-06
Updated: 2012-08-17
Packaged: 2017-11-23 06:18:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 52,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/619014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SideraSkotadi/pseuds/SideraSkotadi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After seeing Romano for the first time in years, Spain is delighted and plans on re-bonding with his former henchman. And what better way than a partners-only, cross country scavenger hunt courtesy of America? Will Spain make up for his absence all those years? And what's more, will he be brought closer to Romano because of this?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Departing is never easy

**Author's Note:**

> The inspiration for this story is my from own experiences with road trips. This is my first fanfiction, so hope it's an enjoyable read ^w^

He had always wondered what colour Romano’s eyes were. He had always pondered on how Romano’s face could turn to unfathomable shades of red. And he had always dreamt of the day when he could see Romano— _his_ little Roma—all grown up and manly.

The morning Romano left for Austria’s house to live with his junior sibling was a sad one for Antonio, as he dreaded ever parting with his adorable henchman. He couldn’t imagine normal days without the tiny, hot-headed Italian around, and had often inquired how he managed to live before ever inviting Romano into his life. So when he watched as his beloved ‘younger brother’ walk towards the doorway, he felt a lump in his throat. _I shouldn’t cry_ , he thought bitterly as he tightened his grip on the edge of his wrinkled shirt, _Romano would be frightened… I think. I should be strong for him._

Physically the age of a fourteen year old, the top of Romano’s head nearly reached the height of his caretaker’s shoulder. Looking into the boys eyes, it shocked Antonio to see a forlorn expression on his face. He quickly looked away, frowning when the older man took his hand.

“Take care, alright, Romano?” he asked in Spanish. Hazel met green, and Antonio couldn’t bear to tear his eyes away from the rare, soft expression the Italian was making.

Romano was many things: clumsy, aggressive, pessimistic, loud, rude, and more impatient than the average child. But past all those flaws was a passionate, kind-hearted, generous, intelligent, sympathetic, skillful, beautiful, innocent, and honest person that had made Antonio’s insatiate desire to reach out to him and shatter the boy’s rough exterior even more persistent.

It was moments like this when Romano truly looked like the hurt boy that was rejected by his grandfather and overshadowed by his younger brother. It was moments like this when he accepted the Spaniards hugs, never struggling or fighting back. And so Antonio did just that, pulling the boy into a tight embrace and resting his chin on Romano’s head. He could hear a soft whimper coming from his chest, and squeezed his eyes shut. _I will not cry. I’m not the one who is about to live with a stranger. My poor, poor Roma; of course he’s scared._

After a few minutes of Antonio muttering assuring words to the person he was softly caressing in his arms, Romano pulled away. His eyes were glassy from the tears, and his face was a deep red. By the looks of it, he was both embarrassed and broken in the older man’s eyes. Although he knew that the adolescent wouldn’t like it, Antonio lifted his face up by the chin, and gently pecked his nose with the greatest of care. For some reason, though, he felt a foreign sensation heating the pit of his stomach the minute his lips touched Romano’s skin. Antonio shrugged it off as mere anxiety and pulled away from his soon-to-be _former_ charge’s face.

“W-What was that, bastard?” Romano asked, flustered by the sudden kiss. Said kisser chuckled light-heartedly and patted the boy’s head, avoiding the stray curl that would anger the Italian when he touched it.

“Well, Roma, you’re just too cute~! And someone as adorable as you shouldn’t cry! If I were to just stand here and watch, I would feel like I was committing a crime! And what a crime it would be..,” he muttered without thinking, although the Spaniard grinned widely when he noticed Romano’s signature glare. He would miss seeing that.

“Don’t fucking touch me, you creep! You’re not making it any better!” No matter how much venom was spat, though, his words betrayed his actions as he squeezed the older man’s hand, making Antonio practically beam from happiness. With Romano, any small gesture of affection was one worth cherishing, for it didn’t happen often.

“Romano, honey, you have no need to feel alone _or_ scared; Italy will be there, won’t he?” the Spaniard questioned, trying to comfort the boy as he silently shook. There was a glint of shock in Romano’s eyes, and when he looked up to meet Antonio’s, they widened even more so. Then his facial features changed to match his serious tone of voice.

“Spain, you tomato bastard, I’m not upset because… because I’m scared or anything, got that? That isn’t the reason, so just get that out of your damn mind,” he stated with an edgy resonance in his voice. Antonio could only nod in response, though he had to wonder what brought on this sudden change in mood.

“Why then, Roma? You have your brother, and I heard that Hungary is kind to young boys… but perhaps you should worry about that. And although you and Austria have had rough times together the first time you moved in with him, I’m sure he’ll warm up to you… eventually. I mean, who _couldn’t_ like such a cutie?” He heard Romano scoff in response, and couldn’t help but feel a ray of hope come in his direction.

“Or is it possible… that maybe you..,” the Spanish nation trailed off in a low voice. Antonio couldn’t bring himself to ask what was lingering on his mind, fearful that perhaps he would scare Romano off during what could have been their last encounter for a long time. However, the other seemed to want Antonio to finish, and raised his eyebrows in confusion.

“What? Don’t you ‘never mind’ me, bastard! You know very well that I hate it when you do that.”

“Umm… will you miss me, Romano?” he asked, a blush rising to his face. Of course he would deny it. Of course he would push him away, running far and never returning. However, what surprised him was when the younger boy looked at him, with the widest eyes he had ever seen, and smiled.

 A small one, at that, but a smile nonetheless. It was a pure, genuine smile that reached his eyes and lit his entire face, emanating a youthful glow. Antonio’s breath hitched when he caught sight of that smile, and then it was gone. One of the last gifts Romano had given him; the blessing of that particular memory. _Ah, how bittersweet it is_ , the personification thought during the brief phenomenon.

After that breathtaking moment, he started blushing furiously and didn’t meet the taller man’s eyes, until finally he let out a deep sigh. Due to the close proximity of their faces [since Antonio was looking down for Romano’s benefit], the Spaniard could feel that exact exhale cool his crimson demeanor. Although it could have been otherwise, he swore the hairs at the back of his neck stood, indicating an oncoming shiver. _But from what?_

“W-Well, tomato bastard, I mean… umm, you’ve been my caretaker for so long, so… I mean, not having you around, or living in your house, is kind of… weird. B-But, you know, I just… Eh, about you I… I… Crap, well I don’t know how to fucking explain this sappy shit...,” he stumbled on his words, trying to convey how he felt. Antonio understood enough, though, and grinned as he watched the shorter boy confess things he normally wouldn’t say. After a few more seconds of profanities and murmurs, he felt that Romano should be stopped before his face overheated.

“There there, Roma, I understand exactly what you mean. And I’m happy you’re trying so hard; years ago you would have just head butted me and ran off~! You’ve really grown, Romano, and I know you’ll do just fine.” And when the gravity of his words hit him, Antonio realized that what he said was the truth. In height, weight, and personality, Romano was growing up, and moving on to another place.

Without Antonio.

The lump in his throat returned, and he could feel a stinging sensation in the back of his eyes, so the Spaniard tried to fight back. Hiding his struggle, he hugged Romano again. Without protesting, Antonio could feel the boy’s body relax and lean on him. It was then that Romano looked up at Antonio with his face turning ten shades of red, and while closing his eyes slowly, breathed out a heavy sigh. For the oddest of reasons, Romano’s beet-red, yet peaceful expression made the Iberian personification’s heartbeat race rapidly, and he could feel his face involuntarily nearing the Italian’s slowly.

“Spain, I thi-“

“ROMANO! YOU’D BEST BE HURRYING!” Austria’s voice rang throughout the front of Antonio’s mansion, resonating to his doorway where he and Romano were standing. Frowning in annoyance, he let go of the aggravated boy and smiled gently, trying to cover up the sadness in his voice.

“Goodbye, Romano. Te adoro, mi tesoro. I always will, and no matter how much you grow, my feelings and affections will never waver. Whenever you need someone, I’d like to be the one you come to. Is that too much to ask for?” he asked, a pout resting on his lips. Romano rolled his eyes, but still tried to fight the blush that invaded his cheeks nearly every second he was around his retainer.

“Whatever, bastardo. Do what you want. Unfortunately, you probably need me more than I need you,” he retorted, quickly regretting his playful move. Antonio laughed, squeezing the younger boy’s shoulder.

“I’m happy you think so too, Roma~!”

“Tch, it’s only because you always look like a kicked puppy when you’re sa-“

“ROMANO! I’M GROWING IMPATIENT!” Said Italian growled in frustration, sending shivers down Antonio’s spine. Whether pleasant or fearful, he knew not, and didn’t want to, for that matter.

“YELL ONE MORE FUCKING TIME— _ONE_ MORE FUCKING TIME— AND I SWEAR I’LL MAKE YOUR POSH LIFE A LIVING HELL!!!” He shouted in response, silencing Austria for good. Then he grabbed his things and took one last look at his former caretaker. Pain was a conflicting emotion in Antonio’s eyes, and Romano could see his distress. But saying goodbye wasn’t easy for him either. In fact, the agony felt like it would tear him to the seams of his existence.

“Well, later then, Spain. Addio,” he managed to say under the burning gaze of the older man. Antonio nodded in response. This was it; there last moments together.

“A-Adios.”

Wordlessly, he watched as the one child he swore he would always protect walked out his door, taking a piece of Antonio with him: all their memories, all those moments that he cherished, and that one little Italian that left him with an emotion that he deemed unrecognizable. As the lump in his throat became unbearable and the unknown force bearing down on his chest hurt far too much, he began to cry. Leaning on the wall of his living room, he bawled to his heart’s content.

He cried for Romano, he cried for the time they spent together, but mostly—he knew—he was crying for himself. Because without that child, he understood that his life would never be the same, and that nothing could fill the void Romano left. Who knew how long it would be until they saw each other again? Would the boy still care? Antonio was left in his despair, to doubt their relationship in the future, and to deny that a small part of him had been aware of what was going on. A small part of him _knew_ why he felt so empty and why he longed for Romano more than a guardian or ‘older brother’ would.

But he learnt better than to feel that way, no, to even _think_ that way about the person he had practically raised. So those hindrances of thoughts were pushed to the back of his mind as he continued to weep…

“R-Romano.”

_A child so strong, so passionate, so unrelenting, so ambitious! Gone! My Romano is gone, and it’s all my fault! My Roma is…_

“Romano!”

… Because there was _no_ possible way that he could ever love Romano in a way that was not platonic, but rather…

Romantic.


	2. Just another day

 Watching the orange sun set over the expansive horizon and laying beneath those pleasant, golden beams that electrified his skin, Antonio knew that the day had been an eventful one. He had received a phone call from Gilbert early in the morning, informing him that he had successfully talked Canada into going on a date with him. But not just any sort of date, as the Prussian had mysteriously stated over the other end of the phone. The Spaniard was confused, but nonetheless wished his friend the best of luck, as they both knew that Gilbert had had his eye on the Canadian for some time.

After his siesta, Francis came over to his place unexpectedly, along with three bottles of wine.

“Ah, well, you have heard of Gilbert’s date, oui?” the Frenchman asked, playing with the churros that Antonio had prepared for the two of them. The other man nodded, noticing the mischievous—and what should be added, _creepy_ —look on his best friend’s face. And the Spaniard wasn’t known for being a perceptive one, only when the person was far too disturbing for their own good. Francis took a few sips of his wine before speaking again, leaning his arms on Antonio’s outdoor coffee table and resting his chin in his hands.

“That brat Amerique and his punk of a lover, England, have organized an event that will take place in le United States of America. It is for countries only to attend; pairs, to be specific. They will participate in a scavenger hunt all across the country, and the grand prize is to remain a mystery until the end of the games.” He sighed deeply, drinking down all the remaining contents from his wine glass.

“What does this have to do with Gil’s date?” Antonio asked, true curiosity written plain as day on his face. Francis mentally face palmed and wondered why he had such a daft friend.

“Well, I believe notre ami is going to enter with the Canadian. You know, the pairs will have to share hotel rooms and in some cases, camp out together. That is le perfect opportunity for our Prussian friend to make a move,” he stated matter-of-factly, wiggling his eyebrows in a suggestive manner. Of course, Antonio didn’t understand the gesture, and his mind was occupied with other thoughts.

“Say, Francis, did _every_ nation get invited?” he asked. The Frenchman gave him a puzzled look, and then smiled knowingly.

“Ah yes, apart from the micro nations, _everyone_ was invited. I mean, mon dieu, they even invited Gilbert! An ex-nation! So I’m sure that _half_ of nations are also invited as well, if you understand who I’m talking about.” The Spaniard violently blushed, for he _did_ know whom his best friend was referring to. But the past was the past, and Antonio knew this.

“Francis, I’m over with that already. It’s done. Romano is living his life as a nation now, unified with his brother. He has responsibilities and is probably… all grown up.” Antonio added the last part sadly, and if he had dog ears they would have drooped downwards. It’s not that he didn’t mind the Italian’s development; no, he was happy that he and his brother finally became an independent nation. Rather, it was the fact that he wasn’t around when Romano had his good and bad moments. It was the experiences Antonio missed that made him feel miserable.

“AH, well, I am entering as well,” Francis stated, swerving the conversation into a different direction.

“Really? With who?” Antonio wondered what nation would be sane enough to spend weeks stuck with his best friend in hotel rooms and tents. Although they were very good friends and such, the Spaniard knew that Francis had his overbearing moments where the man whore in him would release. Francis quieted down after the question was asked, and shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“Monaco.” The man seated from the other side of the table stared at him with wide eyes and a horror-struck face. He couldn’t believe his ears. Monaco? The young lady that Francis had raised like a first daughter? The only nation that Francis was sure to never pull a move on? She was an intelligent, attractive and well-bred girl with a sly and observant nature, but nonetheless was well known for her skills in managing money and casinos. And _she_ was the one Francis wanted to spend weeks in confined spaces with?

“What… What were you thinking? Monaco is like your child, and you are like a father to her. I thought that you would have liked to spend long periods of time with someone that you could jump in bed with, but… Monaco? No, I know you wouldn’t. So what is your reasoning?” After a lengthy amount of silence, Francis spoke.

“Mon ami, I didn’t even _want_ to enter the pointless thing. But then Monaco came to my front door and, well, she never does those kinds of things. So I was quite surprised when she asked me if I would be her partner for the scavenger hunt. But I can assure you that… well; of course I didn’t hesitate when I said yes. It’s just that, she never comes to me for _anything_ , and I feel so useless. So even if I have to give up l’amour for awhile, Monaco is worth it.” Antonio was quite shocked by his friend’s words, yet also proud of him. France, the country of love, would throw away his most needed hobby for a long time just for someone he cared about? In the Spaniard’s eyes, that was like giving up tomatoes for awhile to be with the one he loved… _Who is…_ He snapped himself out of the daze and turned his attention to his friend.

“Francis, that is a very honorable and noble thing to do. Your people would be proud, as I am right now. And I’m sure that Monaco will appreciate your efforts, too!” he assured, giving the other man a friendly pat on the back. Francis beamed and felt fortunate for having such a kind and caring friend, and then remembered that Antonio had love troubles of his own. Knowing just what to do, he devised a plan in his mind while his host went to wash the dishes.

After Antonio returned from his duties, he noticed that Francis was missing, and placed on the table was a small note that read:

_I’m off to tell Gilbert about Monaco, since I haven’t told him yet._

_I’ll also be stopping by an old friend’s for a visit. I think you know him well._

_Thanks for the good food, mon ami._

_XOXO Francis_

The man read the note once more, wondering who Francis was going to meet, and then threw it in the rubbish bin, not really caring anymore. He was happy for his best friends; Gilbert had a date and Francis had his daughter-like sort of person… or something. In any case, the two of them were content with their current lives, which made Antonio feel happy; because good friends were affected by their close friends’ moods.

With that thought, he walked over to the kitchen to prepare tortillas and fried calamari for dinner, never noticing that the piece of paper Francis wrote on had an address imprinted on the bottom from the company. In Sicily, Italy.

* * *

 

“I wonder if he understood my hint,” the Frenchman thought out loud to himself, relishing the smell of the cinnamon croissants he had picked up on the drive to his destination. Then again, this was Antonio he was thinking of, so of course not. Sighing as he drove his Venturi Fetish up a steep hill, and muttering about how the roads in Southern Italy were too narrow or too rocky, Francis drew nearer to a white Maggiore styled house. He heard that the man living here had a thing for architecture, but to think that he had such taste was mind boggling. The house was a mixture of an Italian and Mediterranean style, consisting of a single floor and—what amused Francis most of all—an abundant tomato garden that seemed to stretch from the front yard, all the way to the back.

He walked over to the front door, taking note of the well hidden security cameras following his every move. _He’s so paranoid_ , Francis thought as he pressed on the doorbell. He must have waited for several minutes before an elderly man around the age of seventy answered the door. His face seemed surprised, but not unpleased, which was why Francis liked the servant so much.

“Hello, Signor Accorsi. I take it your master is still in his study?” he questioned, his voice smooth as honey and rich as silk. The butler regarded this kindly, and chuckled lightly at the Frenchman’s obvious familiarity with his master.

“Si, Signor Vargas has always been the busy type, Monsieur Bonnefoy,” the gentleman stated, before inviting the guest into the living room and offering him refreshments. After he checked up on his master in the study, he returned to the man seated on the couch with his wine.

“I will apologize in advance if Signor Vargas comes off as… well, rude, I would say. It is just that he has had a rather tasking day, and this economic crisis isn’t making it any better; I can see his stamina fading by the hours,” the old man explained briefly, a pure show of concern evident on his ancient face. Francis smiled at his worry and display of indirect affection towards his master. _I wish men like him lived longer, he deserves so much more than some people in this world do._

“Not to worry, Signor. I have known your master long enough and have grown accustomed to his behaviour. Besides, I informed him earlier that I would be coming, so he might as well be polite and get it over with.” The two men chuckled in each other’s company for awhile; awaiting the grouchy Italian that they both knew would enter the room any minute. And that he did.

“What do you want, wine bastard?” came the annoyed voice from the other end of the room. The Frenchman smirked, knowing immediately who it was, and turned around to lock eyes with the master of the household.

“Why, I’m just here to talk, mon petit Romano~!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Signor Accorsi [the butler] is an OC character, and has no relation to hetalia whatsoever.


	3. Thinking back

Lovino had never been one that liked surprises. In fact, he DESPISED them. The only thing he despised more than surprises was Germany. But who couldn’t despise that wurst-loving potato bastard?

The morning had started off normal; Lovino woke up at around ten, ate at ten forty and slept in the noon. But then came his obligations as _half_ of a country, which involved stacks of paperwork and phone calls. And if there was one thing that took first place on his list of things he really hated doing, it would be talking to douche bags that don’t give two bits about his people. All they were interested in was public relations and the opinion of most communities they could win votes from. Lovino really hated assholes like them, and he believed that he could spend his time doing more useful things.

Like having siestas.

So when he received a personal call on his cell phone from a certain French nation, he was tempted to smash the gadget into the floorboards. Not only because he was fed up with talking to people, but because France just happened to be a bastard. A French, wine drinking bastard. _Hell, their wine can’t match up to our Italian standard wine_. But he couldn’t do what he had deeply wished to; this was the first call he had from an actual nation since five months ago [his brother did not count]. It could have been important.

Practicing the breathing exercises he had learnt from Japan during his trip to Osaka, Lovino inhaled deeply, then exhaled deeply. He repeated the process several times before he regained his composure, and then he pressed the answer button on his Smartphone.

 “Pronto,” he murmured into the voice piece. A creepy chuckle came from the other side of the line, and it sent Lovino shivers.

“Hello Romano~! Just wanted to let you know that I’ll be stopping by your house, since it _is_ rude to drop in without doing so, according to those boring lectures Angleterre gives me sometimes,” he said promptly, a casual tone added to his heavily accented English. Lovino wondered why after so many years of living, the English language was still so foreign to him.

“Like hell you are, testa di cazzo. I have work and shit I have to finish, so piss off,” was what the Italian responded with, and quickly hung up on the Frenchman. He then turned off his cell phone, not wanting to be interrupted, while he signed papers and read official documents.

Yes, his job was _so_ motivational.

In his study, which was coloured a mahogany brown for the walls and a chestnut brown for the floorboards, he relentlessly worked and signed and stamped, until his hands were sore. Lovino hated his study for one main reason; the colours were visually disturbing to him. His boss knew how much Lovino liked hues and shades, which was why he made the office so mundane; it kept the Italian from getting distracting. Organizing the paperwork into neat stacks on the second desk next to his own, he fumbled with some books on the shelf until he found one that he hid from all visitors behind the chemistry textbooks. Because no one looked _there_ , after all, it was chemistry.

Stroking the leather of the book’s cover, he undid the clutches that secured the edge of the books frame and forced it to open. Like a leaf bending to the will of the wind, the strings unfastened and Lovino opened the book to regain the memories that he knew would never leave his mindset. The “book” was more of a scrapbook, with photos and captions in the most random of places. And most of the photos were of Lovino when he lived with Spain, their faces bright and happy from the tomatoes they would constantly eat together under the sun. Some pictures were of the summers when they would fish in the river nearby Spain’s main mansion, others were of the winter when they lazed around the beach the entire day, only going home when they were truly hungry. Times like that made Lovino want to turn back time, back to that certain memory of him and his caretaker. But he had to admit that some of the experiences he had with Spain weren’t pleasant.

Like the time he tried to trade Lovino in exchange for his brother. It hurt him so much that he didn’t know what to do; Lovino knew he was useless and talentless compared to his younger brother. He knew that people preferred Feliciano over him and that they’d be happy if he would have just left. One would expect for Lovino to hate his younger twin, but that never crossed the boy’s mind. He was extremely protective of his sibling and wouldn’t let anyone get near him if there was a chance they could hurt the naïve boy.

Everyone except for Germany. Lovino scrunched his face in disgust as he thought of the man of whom had earnt his brother’s undying trust. The man who had protected his brother whenever he could. The man who did Lovino’s job for him. He and Feliciano used to share a house in Rome—being the two Italies, that is—but one day the older twin decided that he had had enough. Although he didn’t directly tell his sibling why he left to live in his house in Southern Italy, the other man had understood enough. Between bringing Germany home for “surprise” visits, to just staying over at the German’s house for weeks, Feliciano understood that Lovino needed seclusion. He understood that that was the way his older brother did things, and the only person that could fix him wasn’t himself, but rather a particular Spanish nation.

So Lovino left the main house and settled down in Sicily, enjoying the calming ocean breeze that swept over his home early in the morning. He had grown accustomed to the locals and the towns in the area, and had become rather fond of his new way of life. When he put aside his tiring work that he hated with a passion, to the constant phone calls he would receive from his brother on certain days of the week, life had been peaceful and quaint for him. It was just what Lovino needed.

No more spending long days, reminiscing on the times he had shared with Spain, for those were long gone now. He knew that Spain was a busy nation, just like himself, and that he probably had more important things to do than see his former colony. But it had been nearly a century since the last time they saw each other, mainly because Lovino never went to world meetings, and it made the Italian wondered how the Spaniard was doing. Not like he cared or anything; curiosity just overcame him at times. Yes, that was definitely it, Lovino constantly told himself. He would have asked France since the nation was Spain’s best friend, but… that didn’t seem like a good idea.

Stowing the book away in its original spot, Lovino straightened his tie and walked towards the kitchen to make an espresso, when he spotted someone with shoulder length blonde hair sitting on his couch. _Vaffanculo._

“What do you want, wine bastard?” he growled at the Frenchman, and he intensified his glare when he noticed Francis suspicious grin, one that rivaled a Cheshire’s smile.

“Why, I’m just here to talk, mon petit Romano~!” Lovino just rolled his eyes in exasperation as he gave a heavy sigh.

“Okay then, start talking,” the shorter man ordered, eyeing France with expectations that he knew the Frenchman could never meet. The wild look in his eyes said otherwise.

“You know of this scavenger hunt event America and England are in charge of, right?”

“Yeah, I thought everyone knew,” Lovino stated in monotone, his hazel eyes never leaving France’s blue ones, though he’d like nothing more than to do just that.

“Well, everyone except Antonio, it seems. The poor thing is looking for a partner as we speak, but none seem to heed his invitations. Such a tragedy, I tell myself, but then I remember that he has one little friend left that he hasn’t asked.” The Italian didn’t understand where the Frenchman was going with this, and didn’t care, but he continued to listen, examining the apparent leer on the other nation’s face.

“Romano, would you like to be mon ami’s partner?” he asked, closing in on the wide eyed boy. France had an amused look on his face as he observed the smaller man’s facial expressions, and the way he flushed red from ear to ear. _Ah, such a cute little snack~! But I must hold back for Antoine, or else it will complicate things… Still, what a good catch~!_

In Lovino’s head was a warring internal conflict that made his brain hurt as he winced in pain. What had that meant? Did he really want to see Spain again? And would Spain even want to see him? Question after question piled up until they seemed to make mountains in his conscience. And the most stressful inquiry of all: After so many years apart, did either of them change? Trying to pull himself together, he cleared his throat and maintained eye contact with a grinning France.

“If that tomato bastard wanted me as a partner, wouldn’t he have asked already? I mean, wouldn’t he have approached me a _long_ time ago if he even wanted to contact me?” Lovino asked in a shaking voice, holding his tears back. “I’m not going to visit him if he doesn’t even want to see me, alright? Because that’s…. its pointless and a complete waste of time.” He flinched when a hand met his shoulder, rubbing it slightly. Expecting to see a perverted France glancing his way, he was shocked when a solemn expression remained on the Frenchman.

“Romano, you want to meet Antoine, don’t you?” he asked, gazing eagerly into the shorter man’s eyes. Lovino gulped, expecting to snap a smart comeback. But instead he couldn’t find his voice, and knew that he didn’t need words to show how he felt. So he nodded, hating the fact that he had just confessed one of his deep secrets to _France_ of all people. Said nation smiled gently, seating the two of them on the couch and gazing up at the ceiling in exhaustion. _They both want the same thing, and yet they won’t see each other. I’m sure their reasons are the same as well._ Then he smirked. _Good thing big brother is here to help~!_

The other man seated next to him was still fuming with embarrassment, trying to overcome the sudden flow of emotions coursing through his body. _I want to see Spain. I want to see Spain. And I want him to see me too._

_Just like those years before, when I was merely a child, hungry for attention, and still attached to the bastard. That was so many years ago, but it seems my desires haven’t changed, and I was only denying it. Why?_

_I still want to see him, and yet…_

_What stops me from doing so? These feelings… Is one of them fear?_

_What am I afraid of?_

Lovino pondered for several minutes while France left to use the restroom, but deep down, he knew.

_I am afraid… of rejection. I am afraid that he won’t want the new me, the older me, and that he will refuse to ever meet me again. After all, I’ve become somewhat of a sour sport, even I can accept that. Perhaps after years of thinking it over, Spain has decided that I was never worth the trouble. And maybe I wasn’t. No, I_ know _that I’m not anything special, and I certainly didn’t deserve the attention he gave me. But he didn’t care. Spain didn’t care about my flaws in character and action, and would pursue me until I gave in to him. After awhile, I gladly did so. No one had ever cared so much for me in that way, and that’s when I knew; Spain wasn’t just anyone. To me he had become… he had become…_

Lovino thought back to the day when he had bid his former caretaker farewell; it had a sunny and warm summer’s light. Usually, they would have gone fishing around noon, but not this time. He remembered the look in Spain’s eyes as he held the younger boy tightly, and Lovino knew that he was holding in tears. The fact that the Spaniard would cry for him made the parting harder than he originally thought. Then there was that hesitant but gentle kiss, which moved the Italian’s inner core emotionally and made him want to stay in the older man’s arms forever.

The emotion that unfolded his heart left him to draw one conclusion; that he had fallen in love with his caretaker. He had fallen in love with the man whom had raised him better than his own grandfather. That fateful parting, along with his alarming discovery, made Lovino yearn for the Spaniard each passing day. Even when he had finally got along with everyone in his new home, he would have traded it all just to wake up in Spain’s tomato garden once more, and to have seen that beaming smile greeting him.

_It is said that the heart grows fonder with separation and time. Is my love for Spain still intact? Do I still love him? Or has my love simply changed in form? Perhaps now it is only platonic; maybe I never really loved him like I thought I did. After all, I was young and in-experienced with all sorts of shit._

Despite thinking so negatively, the ray of hope Lovino kept believed that maybe, just _maybe_ , it was the real deal. Not family related love, no, it was the kind that you could only give to the one person that you decided to spend eternity with. And being a nation, that wasn’t as hard as it sounded. Suddenly, a notion developed in Lovino’s mind, and it made him shiver with displeasure and anxiety.

_I think this is love that I feel, along with my fear and tension. But what do I do with it? I can’t simply walk onto his doorstep and declare that I have had these feelings since the day I left him! Dammit! My love is so pointless, and I’m sure that I can never show or tell him; doing so would be a fruitless effort. Hell, the fact that I’ve accepted this crap is a miracle. Maybe I should just pretend that this never happened and move on with my day-to-day life style. Maybe it won’t hurt as much, because a little bit of pain is okay with me; it’s for the sake of our relationship._

_Relationship? What relationship?_ A voice rung in his head, sounding something like Grandpa Rome’s. It was using a mocking tone and made Lovino grimace at the sound; he hated when he thought of his deceased Nonno.

“Shut up,” he muttered to himself, hoping no one was around to hear him talking to himself. That was just a way of making the voices in his head go away, though, and no one but Feliciano knew that.

_If you_ really _loved your beloved, mi piccolino, you would risk it all for them. You know what they say: no pain, no gain! I suppose in your case you’d be suffering either way, but whatever, it’s not like I care._

Lovino groaned as the voice faded away, because from every viewpoint possible, what had been stated was absolutely correct. “You never know ‘till you try,” as Feliciano had always said to Lovino whenever he refused to do something because he thought he would fail. As France walked into the room again, back from his suspiciously _long_ bathroom session, he noticed that the air around the Italian had become lighter and passionate. He just couldn’t explain the change in words.

“Alright, wine bastard, you better answer all my questions truthfully, or God help you I will bust a cap in your ass,” he deadpanned, never losing his stoic mask. Fearful of what was to come, the Frenchman nodded in silence. Lovino maliciously grinned, sending a shiver up the other man’s spine. He enjoyed making France uncomfortable, and relished his frightful expression. Grabbing his keys and wallet, he motioned for the older man to come forward, and said man complied with his shaking form. _What does Romano want? He seems different from earlier… Perhaps he had a revelation?_

“What is it that you want to know?” France asked, maintaining straight posture despite his uncomfortable thoughts. He knew that Romano had associated himself with the mafia once or twice—heck, maybe even all the damn time—and was eager to drive home as soon as possible. Lovino narrowed his eyes, frowning a bit before awkwardly coughing, a shy smile creeping to his lips.

“Tell me where exactly Spain lives now.”


	4. What's wrong from right

It was around seven pm when Antonio propped himself onto his living room couch, a tomato in his left hand and a glass of tomato juice in the other. He set the drink down on the coffee table and turned on his flat screen television. There was a telenovela [Spanish drama] playing at the moment, one in which the Spaniard found himself enjoying since his discovery of it’s existence.

The main character—an ill-tempered yet likeable young woman from high society named Aida— and her younger sister—a sweet, pretty and kind girl named Margarita—were having a sisterly moment on the screen in the episode playing. From what Antonio had gathered, Aida had an inferiority complex with her sister, but loved her all the same, and Margarita was so much of an airhead that she didn’t notice a thing. Then there was the leading male—a charming, rich and friendly man named Felix—whom was madly in love with Aida, though she didn’t understand why. Aida strongly believed that, like everyone else, he preferred her sister more and saw herself as a snobbish grump. Throughout the series, Felix had earnt her trust with each passing episode, but in the current one, all that he had worked for seemed to be crumbling away.

Antonio sat quietly, engrossed in the drama that unfolded before his eyes.

 

On the television, Aida had just returned from her two month stay in Istanbul, and was being reunited with Felix in a park. It was hinted before in the show that Felix planned to confess his love for her at that moment, but naturally, a jealous and ‘trolling’ family member poisoned Aida’s thoughts with half-truths and reminders of the past; thus, destroying the foundation of the bond they had created.

‘Why won’t you look at me, Aida? It has been so long since we’ve seen each other, yet you refuse to meet my eyes! Why must you be so… so…,” Felix seemed to have trouble finishing his sentence, although Aida cut him off anyways.

‘So what, hmm? Callous? Unkind? Well, I don’t see why it should matter to you, after all, you just hang around for my sister; everyone does. You’re just like the others.’ Aida refused to look at the other man, and focused purposefully on the flowers, as if they perked a sudden interest in her. Tears seemed to be appearing at the corners of her eyes, tears that her voice over indicated to be ones of anger, NOT sadness. She turned the other way quickly, her eyebrows knit tightly together to create an intimidating frown.

‘ _It’s not like this makes me sad… I just thought you were different, Felix. I thought you would understand, and that you would be there for me…’_ Said man made a thoughtful expression that the camera zoomed in on, and only then did his eyes seem to widen with sudden realization.

‘You’re wrong, Aida, I’m _not_ like everyone else. And I don’t _want_ to be like them; I’m here for you and only you, no one else,” then he spun the tearing Aida around and gently held her hands in his. “I missed you very much, and I thought about you often. Even now, when you are right in front of me, I don’t think I can contain my joy much longer. I heard about how people treated you when you were young, and I promise my intentions are nothing relating to those. The past is the past, but I must ask you: is it possible to forgive and forget, Aida? Can you not see that I am here for one reason and one reason only?’ After his indirect confession, he had grasped the woman’s attention as her olive green eyes met his dark brown ones. Despite being on camera, the electricity between the two was nearly tangible, and left an everlasting effect on Antonio. He could only watch with awe as the scene became more and more intimate. _Mio Dios, will the show end soon? That’s a shame._

‘When you say it like that, it almost sounds as if you’re… But alas, I’m sure that for such a thing to be directed to me is impossible… Still… What is your reason, Felix?’The Spaniard watching gasped in awe; she rarely EVER called her love interest by his name and in such a sweet tone as well. He ran to the kitchen as fast as his legs could carry him during the commercial break and brought back to the living room several churros and a glass of water. Sitting in a fetal position, Antonio tensed immediately when he saw the show appear on screen after the break.

In the scene, Aida’s hands were held in Felix’s as the emotions in their eyes clashed. Gulping slowly, the man sighed deeply before answering your question.

‘I think you already know, my sweet, but if it pleases you to hear me say it then I shall do so,” and he brought her knuckles to his lips and softly pecked them. “I love you, Aida, and that is my one true reason. You are the moon in my eyes, and the rose growing with the thorns. Like dancing petals in the autumn wind, my life would not be complete without the memories I’ve made with you. I don’t care what others think, nor do I care what they say or do. So I must request— as selfishly as a man can— for an acknowledgment, or at least an opinion, from the love of my life, you.’ Aida seemed overwhelmed with what appeared to be shock and embarrassment, but by watching her it became obvious that she was pleased with his confession.

‘Then I must admit—as selfishly as a woman can—that I have wanted nothing more than to take you away from all of those people, only to have you just for myself. Because my feelings are mutual, Felix, and no words can describe my euphoria right now.” She smiled warmly, beaming with happiness and youth, and the taller man’s face brightened with delight. Antonio watched as the two shared an embrace in the garden, then the credits rolled.

He sighed contently as he pressed the power button and stood up from the couch. To him, such a happy ending didn’t exist in his realm of vision. Yes, Antonio had confirmed the fact that he was very much in love with Romano, ever since the day the nation had left his side. However, that didn’t mean that he welcomed it with open arms. Society would have called it wrong—sick, even—to fall for the person you had single-handedly raised on your own with everything you had. Though he never felt that way in the beginning, Antonio had years to reflect on what he experienced during their parting, and concluded that the emotions were romantic.

But was it the same for nations? Did they go under the same principles and laws that humans did? The Spaniard had often reflected on such things, and had come to the conclusion that they did not. In fact, the interesting thing about personifications of countries was that nearly all of them were homosexual, going against most religious beliefs in many cultures. Though it _was_ amusing, that only proved that the distinction between humans and nations was well defined, and that Antonio’s feelings should not have been considered grotesque in the least.

Walking over to his outdoor patio mirroring the ocean, the Spaniard reminisced on the times when he and Romano would just lay on the beach for hours, being lazier than the average Mediterranean and sleeping twice as much. That was around the time Antonio took it upon himself to teach the tiny Italian how to swim, since he had no such knowledge back then. It seemed like hours before the boy finally relaxed in the water, trusting his caretaker with each successful stride he made. Pride and happiness swelled in Antonio’s heart when he finally watched Romano swim on his own, bringing him peaceful thoughts. Then again, that was around the time he also started thinking about the Italian’s future, and it made him worry. At an early stage in their relationship, he often wondered how Romano would grow up to be like, and whether or not he and Antonio would still be close.

_Ah, and then my little tomatino suddenly sprung up one day. It was truly a shocking surprise; the night before he was only a bit past half of my height, but then, WOOSH! He grew like a sunflower and shot upwards, his head being able to meet the highest length of my bicep. I remember the horrified look on his face—Ah~! It was so cute~!—when he looked at me with wide eyes and asked all sorts of paranoid questions involving over-growth and even death. Of course, children shouldn’t think like that, and I assured him that it was all a part of being a nation; those things just tended to happen. But then I noticed those muscles that had started to form on his body [most likely from spending time farming the tomatoes], and of course, made a mental note to keep Francis out of my house more often. Because, Mio Dios, the child was becoming quite a looker at such a young age! I thought it was an injustice for someone to appear so vibrant and cute, and of course blamed it on his Roman blood. But who couldn’t?!_

Antonio smiled dreamily as he stared at the ocean, and then literally slapped himself out of his daze. He was thinking of a young Romano, for Christ’s sake! Imagining his well toned body, and how certain areas on his back would always have some sort of tension to it, and how his legs would often- He pinched his cheeks with disgust, trying to rid his mind of the venomous thoughts. Antonio felt criminal for mentally picturing his former colony in such a… _perverted_ way, although it wasn’t as if he knew what the Italian nation looked like then. But he imaged that Romano was probably one handsome man.

Smirking, Antonio entered his house again, bored out of his mind and wishing for distractions to swerve his train of thoughts. As he considered calling Gilbert and Francis, the Spaniard stopped himself from doing so after remembering that the two would probably be busy preparing for the scavenger hunt thing and all. Which meant that he would have no one to hang out with for some time. _That’s just great_ , Antonio thought dryly, and reached for a worn-out journal on his bookshelf [from his Conquistador days, mostly written about Romano *coughcough*] when he heard the sound of a car pulling into his driveway.

Curiously, he pulled aside the curtains and found himself staring at quite the surprise. One of the vehicles he recognized was owned Francis; an ocean blue Venturi Fetish that looked slick and smooth illuminated by the yard lights. However, the other caught Antonio off guard, for it was so stylish and uncommonly seen in Spain. Next to the water fountain centered in his front yard was a red Ferrari 458 Italia, being maneuvered in an elegant fashion by its driver. Due to the heavily tinted windows, the Spaniard couldn’t see who was behind the steering wheel of the beauty-of-a-machine, but he knew that the man in the Fetish was none other than his French friend. It appeared that the mysterious handler was being led by Francis, and eventually parked in the path of Antonio’s driveway.

Not wanting to come off as impolite to his new guests, the Spaniard turned on more front lights and stepped outside to be greeted by the Frenchman. Behind him was the unknown motorist of the Ferrari, hidden behind the taller man’s body. Antonio had guessed that he was either being shy, or his build was just small. Trying to side step Francis to see the man behind him, the other nation only blocked him slyly and gave his Spanish friend a warm smile.

“Bonjour, Antoine! I have brought mon petite ami that I wrote about in the note, and I hope you don’t mind. He and I were just, ahem, doing some business with each other, and I thought I’d stop by to greet you!” The Spaniard smiled brightly in response, muttering a small “no problem” or something, all the while watching the figure behind his friend turn around to pull what looked like a fedora from his vehicle. For some reason, his ears—even though the area was dimly lighted—were strangely tinged with a noticeable red, making Antonio more curious to see his face. He wore what looked like a freshly pressed suit [at least from the back], and fine leather shoes that practically screamed ‘classy’.

He was the model image of someone pulled straight from an old-time mafia movie, and that only excited the anxious Spaniard, the urge to see the stranger’s face metaphorically _killing_ him. When the man turned around, the fedora shaded his face, shadowing his features in the night. However, it could be noticed that he had a thin face shape, dark brown hair and lightly olive toned skin. _If only I could see his face!_ Despite his anticipation, Antonio kept a calm smile on.

“And who is your friend? I apologize, amigo, but I’m afraid I can’t see you very clearly when you wear that hat… B-But if you want to keep it, that’s alright,” the Spanish nation stated, stuttering only when he noticed the glint of gold and green in those eyes. It seemed so familiar, yet he couldn’t place or understand why. Francis grinned, chuckling to himself, before motioning towards the man.

“Well, you heard him, mon ami. Off with the hat, oui?” Francis asked his friend, and said ‘friend’ groaned a bit, before removing his fedora and patting down the tousles and curls in his hair. Antonio’s eyes widened in recognition; and no, it wasn’t the grumpy expression on the man’s face, nor was it the extreme blush he was sporting, that helped him identify the person. It was that one individual curl that stood out and never settled down like the rest of stranger’s hair, and the Spaniard couldn’t help but notice that he avoided it entirely. Along with the said traits earlier, it became clear who this guy visiting with Francis was, and it made Antonio’s heart stop for what felt like minutes. Never had he been caught so off guard.

Annoyed, the personage coughed awkwardly and gave the awestruck man in front of him a murderous glare.

“Are you gonna let us in or what, bastard, because it’s fucking windy right now, and random shit is flying in my eyes.” For a few minutes, everything was silent—with the exception of the environment surrounding them—then Francis broke the silence.

“Well, Antoine?” he asked his nervous friend, trying to encourage some sort of action out of the speechless Spaniard. Finally, said person regained his composure, and met eyes with the impatient new guest.

“Hello, Romano.”


	5. Reunion & Desires

As he invited the two inside, Antonio could feel his heart pounding in his ears. Romano was there, only a few feet away from him. He was close enough to touch, the eager Spaniard had noticed. A warm feeling spread throughout the base of his stomach, eventually reaching the man’s face, and causing a faint blush. The epitome of his idea of perfection was right before him, yet all Antonio could do was follow his friend and former henchman into the living room.

_No! I can’t act shocked right now; I have to play it cool! If I were to be all giggling or silent or GOD FORBID if I were to behave like a school girl, Roma will surely think that I’m stupid or something. And I REALLY don’t want my crush- I mean beloved- I mean... WHATEVER! I just don’t want him to see me in such a state of shock, so I should play it cool~!_

While absorbed in his thoughts, he didn’t notice the expectant looks that his guests were giving him—mostly because he could be as oblivious as America—until Francis let out an awkward cough. Slightly flustered, the Spanish nation managed to give both of them a dazzling smile, all the while trying his best not to stare at Romano for too long.

“Ah, sorry about that~! So, would you two like some wine?” he asked, although his eyes seemed to aimlessly wander about the room. Francis acknowledged the inner turmoil his friend was experiencing and smirked, pleased with himself. _This is going to be fun~!_ But when his eyes wandered in Romano’s direction, the Frenchman’s grin grew even wider, if such thing were a possibility. _Scratch that; this is going to be divertissant~!_

The Italian noticed the other man’s perverted rape face and made haste in throwing the nearest magazine in his direction, smacking right into his target’s shoulder with strong force.

“What the hell, bastard! Stop looking at me like that, it’s like your undressing me with your eyes!” the young man barked, eyeing Francis with murderous intentions. Said person narrowed his eyes, the let another smile reach his lips. Looking around, he scooted closer towards Romano, earning a disgusted expression from him. Seeing that Antonio wasn’t present—probably fetching the wine, he guessed—the Frenchman leaned closer towards Romano.

“You are nervous, oui? Aw, you are so cute, mon ami Italien~” he cooed, and Romano turned scarlet the second he heard it. Sputtering expletives and curses in Italian and English under his breath, the younger man’s head was seemed to fume smoke, which only encouraged Francis’ laughter.

“Hey guys~! What’s so funny?” Antonio asked as he walked into the living room, three wine glasses balancing perfectly on a tray. Romano straightened up, fighting back the urge to run and hide like his Italian blood was compelling him to do. It was the first time he was looking at his former caretaker in the full light, and even though he would _never_ admit it, he liked what he saw.

The Spaniard still had that same bronze skin that Romano had always admired; his olive skin could never shine in the sunlight like Antonio’s did. The man was also taller, broader and TEN TIMES MORE GODDAMN HANDSOME than the Italian had remembered. Especially his eyes—oh DIO his eyes—which were staring intently at him earlier in the meeting. The bright and cheery green that Romano had familiarized himself with during childhood still hadn’t left Antonio’s orbs, and under their gaze, he felt like he was melting away. All this was racing through the Italian nation’s head as a glass of fine wine was placed in front of him, and Romano raised his eyes to meet the Spaniard’s. Both realizing the electricity and heat sent throughout their ogling at each other, the two quickly looked the other way, flushing instantly.

And yet, for Antonio, it was a sweet but fleeting moment of happiness. He had taken in the expression of Romano’s face, enchanted by the flecks of gold and green that shone in those brown-rimmed eyes. Noticing the extreme blush his love was sporting, it only made the Spaniard follow in suit, never wanting to change his view. But alas, that moment ended when a shock struck throughout his body, which made him shiver and end their semi-intimate period.

Francis couldn’t help but snicker, finding their sexual tension amusing to no end; he could practically _taste_ the air of their discomfort.

“S-So, Romano, it’s been awhile since I’ve seen you… A-Ah, and I heard that you’re already a country now! So, um, congratulations, even if it is a bit late,” then he added with a smile as he recovered, “Ah, you’re so grown up now, aren’t you~? My little Roma must have so many responsibilities now~” Antonio’s cooing annoyed the Italian, and he quickly punched the older man in the shoulder with full extortion.

“B-Bastard! Of course I’ve been busy; after all, even if I’m half of a nation, it’s still something!” he yelled in response, hearing a soft chuckling coming from the two other men in the room.

“Ohohohon~! This must be a touchy subject for Romano, non?”

“Ah, you look like a tomato, Roma~!”

Upon hearing the phrase he hadn’t heard in nearly a century, Romano flushed even more ‘like a tomato’. However, another part of him died inside—if only a little—when an abrupt thought interrupted his thoughts.

_Does the tomato bastard still think of me as a kid?_

After wiping tears from their eyes, Francis and Antonio watched as Romano violently shook with anger. Lightly patting him on the back—all the while enjoying himself far too much just from the touch—the Spanish nation tried to ease the angered Italian out of his rage.

“Calm down Romano, it was a joke~! Anyways, I’d love it if you would visit me more; it makes Boss so much happier~!” he urged, trying very hard to sound like his senseless self, all the while meaning every word he said. Believing that Antonio was just talking upon his usual and oblivious nature, Romano didn’t bother thinking that the words were full of eager and kind love. He blushed a bit, trying to control his facial expression [but failing and only managed a scowl].

“Idiota! Like hell _you’re_ my boss! A-And, if I want to visit you then I will damn visit you, got that?” For awhile Antonio made a sad face, catching Romano off guard, and then his usual smile returned.

“Si! And if you’re too shy to come to me, mi tomate, then I’ll find you~!” the Spaniard proclaimed in a singsong voice, not realizing how utterly embarrassing his words were. Romano’s breathing stopped short and realization hit him harder than that one hailstorm he experienced while visiting Russia’s home.

“B-B-Bastardo! That’s what you are! A creepy, clingy bastard!” he shouted, only to receive immense laughter from the other party. Seeing that it was him to step out and let the ‘magic’ happen, Francis stood up and walked towards the exit.

“Well, mon ami, I’d love to stay and chat, but I must say adieu for now~!” He waved goodbye, leaving to the men in each other’s company. _I hope this works out like I planned it would_ , he prayed, grimacing at the thought of a nasty outcome. And away the Frenchman went.

For awhile there was a deafening silence, and Romano hoped that Antonio couldn’t hear his hammering heartbeat against the man’s ribcage, but the Spaniard broke the quiet air.

“So Roma, how has it been at your house? Is Feli annoying you as much as he used to? Ah, how is Feli~?” Talking non-stop, he tried to fill in the deathly calm atmosphere while throwing in a few questioned he wished to ask. Romano, getting irritated by the minute, twitched with annoyance and deftly threw a pillow in his face. With cheeks overheating with an immense flaming sensation, the Italian finally began to speak.

“Geez, tomato bastard, you’re the same as always with your endless talking and shit! A-And dammit, I’m hungry, so stop blabbing and make me food!” he hastily wined, trying to mask the uneasiness caught in his throat by raising the volume. Antonio smiled, enjoying the sound of the raged man’s melodic voice and lightly accented English, complying with his guest’s wishes.

“Of course, Roma~! Would you like some Valencian paella?” he asked, curious on what his ex-charge’s tastes would be like and if they had changed at all. The Italian just grunted in response, so his host took that as a ‘yes’.

“Alrighty then, and perhaps I’ll make some Tortas de Aceite for desert if you’re still hungry!” Romano perked up the minute her heard of the Seivillian pastry, his mouth involuntary twitching just a bit in the corners. It had been so long since he had relished the taste of the olive-oiled sweet biscuit melting in his mouth from one bite, and thinking of such things brought him back to memories of his childhood. _And in that picture I imagine in my head, Spain is always there, waiting for me…_

The man winced in remorse as he tried to rid his mind of the visualizations, all the while, he took little notice to the Spanish nation watching him with fascinated eyes. _Did Roma smile just then?_ Antonio wondered as he made his way towards the kitchen at a quick pace, rushing for the sake of the famished and cranky Italian sitting in his living room. As he was adding the rice to the boiled broth for the paella, he heard the sound of soft humming coming from the direction his guest was supposed to be positioned in.

Curiously, Antonio peeked through the archway that connected the two rooms, and was stunned to find the cutest sight he had seen in years.

Swaying gently in a brown padded rocking/reclining chair was Romano, closing his eyes so that a peaceful expression graced his handsome features. He was listening to music through tomato-decorated earbuds, and singing along with some of the songs. Knowing that the volume was set on super high [for he could hear it all the way from his location, which was quite a stretch], the Spaniard crept closer, his eyes never leaving Romano’s face.

The man who had once been able to fit on Antonio’s lap without slipping off the least had grown so much! Though he wasn’t large in the weight department per say, his arms and legs were long—if not beautifully toned yet olive coloured— and he had curves, but not in a feminine way. No, if words could describe Romano’s appearance, it would be quite complicated; for he had a handsome if not sharp face, but a lean and slender body. He wasn’t tall either, and the Spaniard wagered that he had a few significant inches off of the Italian, although he knew also that Romano had quite the height complex. Sitting in a dreamlike state, Antonio continued to stare adoringly at the murmuring man, holding himself back when it came to his deepest desires wishing to make him… _touch_ Romano.

No, not in a perverted way… well, at least not _all_ the time. The man just longed to stroke the younger’s cheek; to trail his calloused but gentle tanned fingers along what he assumed was soft skin. Antonio’s breath went rigid as he realized what horrors he was unleashing upon himself by sneaking up on the exposed and preoccupied Italian. To be so close to Romano without giving him as MUCH intimacy as he wished to was pure torture, so to speak. With as much stealth as he had possessed, the Spanish nation inched away from the humming man and with one last look over his shoulder, left to finish dinner.

Romano awoke to the smell of rosemary and saffron wafting its way into the living room and blessing his senses with the familiarity of food. As if on cue, his stomach grumbled loudly, and the Italian personification felt his cheeks blaze. Chuckling a bit, Antonio walked into the area with two plates of Valencian paella, which made Romano’s mouth water without his consent, and two glasses of—you guessed it—tomato juice. He later returned with a large platter that had several Tortas de Aceite layered on top of each other in a neat fashion. Setting all the dishes and glasses on the coffee table, Antonio smiled widely as he watched Romano cautiously take a bite out of the main course.

“¿Cómo sabe?” the Spaniard asked with hopeful eyes, making the Italian blush madly.

“E-Eh, va bene, bastardo,” came his reply, and the younger man hoped that his former caretaker didn’t notice the intense heat he happened to be radiating. Because no matter how many years or centuries Antonio cooked for Romano, it was _always_ going to be fucking delicious. And special, because it was made for Romano and Romano _only_ , which he quite liked the idea of.

The Spanish nation beamed proudly, memorizing the cute expression his former colony wore when he ate his meal, and then proceeded to turning on the television. Nothing was playing except for another telenovela—a new one, Antonio had noticed—and he didn’t think that the grumpy Italian would have wanted to watch romantic soap operas with him. But what shocked the man further was that _the other nation’s eyes wouldn’t leave the damn screen_! Romano’s gaze never tore away from the drama enveloping in the plot, and the total cliffhangers before commercial breaks that caused him to swear under his breath. It was just so… so… so…

“CUTEE~~!!!!” the Spaniard squealed before propping himself next to the startled man and squeezing him in a tight embrace. The suffocated Italian groaned and shouted and clawed in response, but Antonio _refused_ to let him go. After awhile, the air grew stiff and tense as the two nations looked into each other’s eyes; the Spaniard _still_ had a hold on the other, and could feel his thin frame clenched in his grasp. _Oh the things I could do…_ _Ugh, estoy volviendome loco!_

“Lemme go, stronzo! You’re going to fucking _crush_ me with your freakish strength, idiota!” Romano’s protesting snapped Antonio out of his trance as he looked to face a _very_ red faced and irritated Italian nation. Practically springing from his spot on the floor, he helped the younger man up and quickly checked for bruises or blemishes, which involved rolling Romano’s sleeves and un-buttoning his shirt, apparently.

“Lo siento, Roma, lo siento! I-I… Who could blame me? You were soooo cute~!” Antonio chimed, and then noticed a stain on the Italian’s fashionable clothes. Said Italian regarded the stain with a ‘tsk’ sound.

“Yeah, that? The fuck-faced frog-of-a-bastard that you call a friend spilt some whine on me while we were chatting at my house, so I hit the figlio di putta as a thank you,” Romano stated icily, narrowing his eyes in thin slits when he remembered how expensive the suit was. _I’ll get you back for this even more, you French motherfu-_

“Why don’t you stay overnight?” the Spanish nation blurted out of the blue, catching Romano off guard. He didn’t know if it was his mood, his laziness, or his gratitude that compelled him to sleepover, but he figured that it had something to do with the pleading demeanor of his ex-boss. Giving a deep and seemingly melancholic [although actually ecstatic] sigh, the Italian nodded his head in exasperation.

Antonio’s heart practically did _cartwheels_ when Romano accepted his request, and he could feel a warm and nerve-wracking feeling spreading throughout the base of his stomach, causing him to flush red. _It’s that feeling again…_

Trying to brush it off, the Spaniard grasped the younger man’s hand in anticipation and led him to the bathroom, not even bothering to be more aware of his actions. Turning on the hot bath water to run, he gestured to the tub.

“You should take a bath for now, Roma. I’ll leave a change of clothes out for you soon, I just have to clean up the dishes and such~!” the older man said, and then left the room, images of Romano _taking a bath without clothes on_ plaguing his mind.

When he was rummaging through his clothes to find something suitable for the Italian to wear, he heard footsteps as the younger nation approached him. With only a towel on, as the Spaniard had noticed to his _mortifying_ delight.

Well, what was he expected to do? Antonio was taking too long to find his clothes, and if he waited all day he would surely catch a cold! So the man walked up to the awestruck Spanish nation, grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and threw him out the bedroom, closing the door shut. Romano returned with loosely fitted baggy sweatpants on. ONLY.

That left his bare chest for Antonio to eye hungrily, forlorn lust glazing his green orbs as wild fantasies re-invented themselves in his mind.

There were a few things the Spanish nation had learnt about Romano that night. One of them was that the younger man was more muscular than he had realized, as his eyes slowly traced the strong contours of the other nation’s bare arms and back. The second was that his cherished ex-henchman no longer liked to cuddle with his Spanish boss, as this was clearly evident when he head butted the older man for even _mentioning_ the idea of the two sleeping in the same bed.

Whining in defeat, Antonio gave a quick goodnight kiss to Romano on the cheek—which in totally honesty he was nervous as hell to do—and was rewarded when the Italian didn’t kick or hit him, but flushed in embarrassment as he trudged to the guestroom. Smirking at the feeling of being triumphant, the Spaniard drifted off into a peaceful sleep.

But not long afterwards, he was awakened to find hazel eyes staring intently at his face, from such a close range…

And being half-asleep and whatnot, Antonio did the most plausible [but not most recommended] thing in the situation, and acted upon his first thoughts.

Which included closing the gap and meeting his lips to a pair of soft ones, and his muscular tan arms fondled the figure above him, and it was THEN that he realized who this person was.

None other than the lovely, solitary Italian nation that Antonio had been lusting after for nearly a century.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the remaining chapters, I will no longer refer to the nations by their personal names during the narration [aka third person POV]. It will be Spain, Romano, France, America, etc. However, if the character is thinking, or if they're speaking, then I'll use the appropriate titles that they would use.


	6. Crying over love

Romano froze as the man below him pressed their bodies together, resulting in the smaller nation on top of the latter. How had this happened?

Well, Romano had been yearning for the touch of his former caretaker the entire dinner, and the surprise hug didn’t make things any better. After some internal debate, the Italian sneaked into Spain’s room and contently watched the man sleep, his breaths even and slow. He reached out to stroke the brunet man’s curly hair, feeling the soft tufts of his bangs. Romano felt as if he could watch his secret love sleep forever, and yet his darkest wishes compelled him to take advantage of the slumbering man. _What harm could it do?_ the voices in his mind would ask, snickering in delight as the Italian nation flustered from the images he had conjured.

And then Spain’s eyes cracked open, revealing their beautiful emerald colour, and Romano froze in shock and fear. He was taken by surprise when the man in bed swiftly, with a sleep influenced sort of grace, moved closer and gently pressed his lips to the Italian’s. The kissed man, confused and slightly awed by the gesture, found himself parting his lips slightly, allowing entrance for the Spaniard. Because he _knew_ that that was more than he had ever wanted for centuries.

Instead of deepening their lip contact with passion and tongue, Spain lazily reached out for Romano and hugged him with a delicate nature, as if the nation were made of paper.

And _that_ was how the two entered their predicament/situation of sorts.

Romano was basically lying on top of his former caretaker, their lips smashing against each other, but neither man attempted to make any advances. Supposing that Spain was half asleep, he smoothly slid out of the Spaniard’s grasp, landing onto the other side of the bed with a soft _thud_. Spain mumbled a bit from the sudden movement, but made no indication that he was stirred awake, which relieved the vigorously blushing Romano. Standing up and turning away from the bed, he brushed the tips of his fingers on his lips.

_He was so soft… and his arms are so_ big _…_

Walking back to his room, the Italian nation reminisced on the shared embrace he had experienced. Oddly enough, Spain still smelt the same as he had before; tomatoes and spices, earth and ocean. The scents that Romano had grown so accustomed to growing up as he was hugged relentlessly by his caretaker, and eventually relishing each action. Clutching at his bed cover’s as sleepiness took over his senses, Romano slipped out of his button-up shirt and dress pants [because Italian’s slept naked] and snuggled comfortably under the covers as he drifted off into slumber.

Little did he know that Spain had been awake the entire time, completely aware of what had happened.

The tan skinned man relentlessly rolled around his bed, not being able to control the growing blush enrapturing his cheeks with flames. He had _kissed_ Romano, and wanted more than anything to stick his tongue into the Italian’s warm and inviting mouth, but he also knew that doing so would cause the other discomfort. Because it was only an accident, right? The nation had only been watching Spain [for what reason he had _no_ idea, but let that slide] and never meant to do anything more than that, so it was the Iberian Peninsula’s fault for kissing Romano. Or so he had convinced himself, which was why he feigned a state of somnolence and avoided an unwanted catastrophe.

Staring at the ceiling with dizziness in his head that wouldn’t disappear, Spain closed his eyes and relived the experience. Romano had lips as gingerly soft to the touch as the Spaniard had hoped they’d be, and the fact that the blushing Italian opened his mouth ever so slightly did raise a few questions, but those trivial things didn’t occupy his mind. Thoughts lingered again on the moment Spain raised the other nation onto his body, resting their faces and locking their lips into a warm contact. Oh, what sweet and fleeting bliss had taken over his physical manifestation then and there, making him want to violate Romano in _so_ many ways. Following those images of his guilty pleasures was a string of wet dreams that left Spain moaning and gasping the name of his love in his deep sleep.

“Romano, how I wish you could love me the way I love you. How I wish you could think of me the way I think of you. How I wish you.. you,” he whispered into the night, tears streaming down the Spaniard’s tan cheeks as he recoiled internal from the ache in his heart.

 What he had always wanted, but was never his. What was right in front of him now, though he couldn’t bear to reach it? How come? That beautiful, miraculous, breathtaking Italian that had the rarest of smiles, yet when he did do so, they lit up Spain’s world. He was well grown now, making it even harder for the Spanish nation to control his growing lust. But he knew the feelings inside of him could not be contained further, for he was a passionate man; if that’s what he indeed _was_ when around Romano, and what Romano had made him feel like.

Not the Kingdom of Spain.

Not his former caretaker.

_Just_ human; a simple, yet significant creature. Beautifully, ordinarily human. If only Romano knew…

That night, with a tear stained face and an indicative mess in his bed, Spain dreamt of smiles he could share with his Italian now that they were reunited. He consciously chose to look on the brighter side, and was compelled even further to win Romano. No, he was not confident, to say the least; he knew nothing of the new personality and interests the Italian nation could have acquired during his lifetime without his ex guardian. But… the torture, the pain and the suffering would continue if he were not to at least _try_ ; this the Spaniard had concluded already.

_I’m going to go for it, because I love Romano. I love him so much that it hurts to hide these wants and fears. I love him so much that I can’t bear to watch him ever leave again, or heaven forbid if he ever goes to be with another._

_He’s MINE. My Romano, forever and always. We share a bond that was built when he still lived with me, and if I try hard enough, the foundations of our history can work towards a relationship._

_It can work towards a happy ending, with only me and my Roma._

Despite the fact that his possessiveness bordered the unhealthy— and that he was nearing the point of outrageous delusions— Spain’s outspoken devotion to his loved one was true and honest; anyone could see that. The Spanish nation just hoped that his message would reach Romano, the one person he wanted to know more than anyone else on the planet.

* * *

 

The next morning, Romano awoke to the sound of an acoustic guitar. Shielding his eyes as the rays of sunlight penetrated the room; he got up and trudged towards the door and out into the hallway. The aroma of tomatoes and baked bread wafted throughout the villa as the Italian followed the sound of the music to the outdoor patio that had a panoramic view of the Mediterranean Sea. There, seated comfortably on one of the reclining chairs, was Spain, tapping his foot melodically to the Tango Flamenco instrumental he was playing.

Romano was captivated as he watched how the man’s tan hands worked their way meticulously with the strings of the guitar, fingering each one like a master. The calm and serene expression he wore melted the Italian nation’s heart, as if Spain radiated—or rather—was the personification of sunlight and tranquility. Dressed neatly in a simply beige button up shirt and brown khaki shorts, along with worn out sandals that seemed to fit him so _well_ , the Spaniard glowed under the morning sky, and it seemed as if the world smiled upon him. The ocean breeze brought scents of salt and earth, and the flowers appeared as if they were leaning closer to the guitar player, like they wanted to hear as much of the melodies as they could.

Spain was perfect in Romano’s eyes, as he always was, but something about that setting made his heart stop and sink at the same time. Spain was too good for the Italian, and that made him in every sense un-reachable.  What was Romano thinking, trying to aim for the heart of such a divine being as Spain? The country of passion! Sure, Italy had its quirks and was known for its romances as well, but the Southern Italian nation wasn’t confident that his capabilities would work on his former caretaker, a man of whom he assumed had had MUCH more experience in the field of amor.

But he decided back in his mansion that he would try, and try he would.

Leaning on the frame of the opened door, Romano complacently listened to the rhythm of the guitar, and the beat of the Flamenco. His Latin blood stirred with anticipation and excitement, urging him to dance, and he would had there not been a handsome Spaniard present. However, he couldn’t help but tap his feet, synchronizing his movements with Spain’s own feet. Eventually he found himself humming along with the melody, and stopped himself hurriedly, mentally cursing and regretting. But he couldn’t _help_ it; the tune was so luring and persuasive. It practically screamed out to the Italian’s physical and mental being, and he could feel Spain metaphorically plucking his heartstrings with each cord he struck.

And that’s when their stares met, emerald with greenish gold.

Spain was taken immediately by the Italian nation’s appearance, noting every small detail he could see. From the slight bed head the man had acquired from messy sleeping, to the half-unbuttoned shirt he was wearing, revealing a wonderfully olive toned chest. Everything about Romano at that moment screamed _rape me_ , to Spain’s horror and delight, but he chose to ignore the urges and grinned widely at the leaning man instead. Then he noticed the tapping of his foot, and chuckled under his breath.

“Good morning, Roma~! I take it you like the wake up call, si?” he asked, still continuing to play his guitar. Romano made sure that he kept eye contact with the Spaniard, intending on sending him a harsh glare, but only managing a weak one because of his lack of energy.

“It is noisy, idiota! That’s not how a normal person wakes someone up,” then he looked at the ground, his cheeks flushing slightly with embarrassment, “A-And buon giorno to you too, bastardo.” Spain’s eyes widened a bit, not expecting a proper greeting from the Italian [of whom was usually grumpy during mornings, according to his memory], but didn’t look a gift in the face and laughed in response.

“Si, mi tomate. But it looks like you are familiar with Flamenco and such, judging from the way you respond to the melody.” Romano just grunted in response, and Spain took that as a ‘yes’. Then he placed the guitar so it leaned against the side table, and gestured towards the kitchen area.

“Hungry?” he asked, and was answered with a loud grumble coming from the Italian nation’s stomach. Flustered and feeling shameful, he muttered a quick ‘stai zitto’ when he heard the Spaniard laugh like a mad man while preparing the breakfast table.

After finishing their assortments of baked bread, tomatoes and tomato juice, the two sat awkwardly in the living room together, waiting for _someone_ to say _something._ Finally, the Southern Italian took it upon himself to speak up, though he was quivering from the thought of doing so.

“So, tomato bastard, you know about the stupid as fuck scavenger hunt shit the hamburger bastard and the eyebrow bastard are holding, right?” Spain nodded, not understanding where the conversation was going, but he let Romano continue.

“Yeah, so Feliciano is going with that damn potato bastard, which I figured would happen. A-And, that maple bastard I call a ‘friend’ is going with that albino bastard—the hell if I know why, some shit about liking the guy or something—and Japan is going with the sleeping bastard, so… I mean, it’s not like I don’t know many people—because you better not be fucking thinking that!—I know plenty of nations, but… all of them already have partners for the stupid thing so I’m just thinking, ‘Fuck them, I don’t need those assholes.’” Spain nodded again, although he was still as lost as ever, and Romano could see that, so he rolled his eyes and reluctantly continued.

“Y-Yeah, but you see, my… my boss! He’s a real dick, and he believes that because Feli is joining I should too, but I don’t have a partner, so I don’t see how that’s actually possible…” Romano glanced upwards at the Spaniard, hoping he would buy the lie, and by the look of his face he did. But he ALSO remained oblivious to what the Italian was hinting at.

“Aw, well cheer up Roma~! Francis told me that ALL the nations in the world were invited, so there’s bound to be SOMEONE out there for you, right~?” he asked, trying to be as comforting as possible. Apparently he failed, because Romano’s left eye visibly twitched with annoyance as he shot a dark glare at Spain. Closing his eyes and muttering something under his breath—which sounded like counting in Japanese from the Spaniard’s hearing—he heaved a heavy sigh and returned to lock eyes with the older man.

“D-D-Do… Err, umm, I mean… Ehh, d-d-d-d-d-do you, umm… ugh, I, uhhh,” Romano was falling over his words and stuttering out of sheer nervousness, but his peculiar behavior made Spain inch closer to him on the couch, and their faces were only centimeters apart. The flustered man could feel the warm breath of the other as his eyes fluttered downwards, trying to find something to look at, ANYTHING besides the emerald eyes focused on him.

Spain felt the awkwardness too, but made no implication that he was going to move away any time soon. Instead, he stared at the beautifully flushed face of his Italian love, and the way his gold flecked hazel green eyes darted to different parts of the room. It was obvious that the man was nervous, but the Spaniard couldn’t make out why he felt that way. All he knew was that the hot, rigid breaths Romano breathed out and onto Spain’s face made him want to jump the man, then and there on the couch. But he had to be patient, because love took time to grow.

“Dime, mi precioso.” _Tell me, my precious one._ Romano gulped at the wording, but obeyed.

“Who’s pr-precious, bastardo? Anyways, umm… Do you already have a partner?” His face was crimson by then, and the Italian’s lips were parted a bit to hide the fact that he was on the verge a mental collapse [only Italy knew that when Romano’s lip entrance opened, it meant he was trying to hide something]. Immediately, something in his mind clicked, and Spain understood what the Italian meant to say with as little words as possible. Feeling EXTREMELY honored, overwhelmed and happy, he crushed Romano into a tight embrace, mending his fingers into the auburn coloured hair of the Italian nation.

“Oh Roma~! Of course I’ll be your partner~! Acepto!” He chimed, pulling Romano closer to his body, without even realizing what sort of predicament he was creating. Spain stood up and swung the younger man around in his harms, dizzy with excitement and passion coursing through his veins. He would get to be with Romano for weeks on end! He would be given countless opportunities to prove his love to the feisty Italian! Laughing at the top of his lungs with delight, he continued to hoist Romano’s body around in a sort of dance, until he realized what was happening.

And he wondered why Romano was so quiet…

The entire time Spain was dragging the Italian nation’s figure and swaying him, he had ALSO been tugging on the particularly sensitive curl of Romano’s without knowing so. Thus, through the entire ordeal, the sexually suffering Italian nation clutched to the Spaniard with all his might, panting furiously. And _when_ said Spaniard realized what he had done, he apologized with vigor and gently placed the smaller man onto the couch, resting his head on a pillow. With his eyes closed, face flushed and gasps and moans escaping his throat, Spain couldn’t help but feel ten times more attracted to the Italian nation than he ever had before, and that _attraction_ started to heat a certain organ in his pants.

After the Spanish nation left to get a drink for Romano [and to relieve himself of the pain he had been enduring], he then proceeded to sitting in the nearby chair, waiting for the Italian to wake up.

The Southern Italian had never felt so humiliated in his entire existence. Not only did Spain see his weaker, more vulnerable self, BUT if one were to listen closely to what he had been moaning they would here the world ‘piu’, meaning ‘more’ in Italian. Which was exactly what Romano wanted; _more_ of the Spaniards sexual abuse. _More_ of his calloused, gentle hands wandering casually wandering about his body, without ever noticing the edgy way it affected him. Romano wanted to be touched more. But he would never admit that.

Even when he had given Spain such a needy look—such a _deprived_ expression— that screamed _‘Take me now!!!’_ and had seen that massive blush the Spaniard attained on his bronzed face, the man did nothing more than give him some juice and apologize tenfold. He also tried to act as if nothing had happened, which Romano was grateful for, but at the same time… he was not. And he didn’t understand why.

_Being in love is exhausting._

After the two of them snacked on churros and took their afternoon siestas, nighttime had already fallen. The Italian guest offered to cook [his excuse was that he didn’t want to eat anymore Spanish ‘crap, although the real reason, he’ll never tell] and made tomato Fettucini with cinnamon bread sticks as appetizers. When the two finished up their meals and cleaned up, Romano settled down on the living room couch and turned on the television, pretending to be interested in what he was watching, all the while watching Spain from the corner of his eye.

The Spaniard’s eyes were drooping slightly, indicating that sleep was taking over his personage. Before Romano could yell at him and send the man to bed, he felt the warmth of Spain’s head resting on his shoulders. The Italian nation peered at the sleeping man’s face and couldn’t bear to awake the quietly snoring idiot, so he just complied with the position he was in. Before he knew, Romano had fallen asleep, resting his head on the other slumbering man’s one. Unconsciously, the two moved their arms during their rest, and held hands with clenched fingers together.

Spain woke before Romano, after being startled out of his repose by the feeling of Romano’s lips on his neck [unintentionally, of course]. Slowly, he lowered the younger man’s head so that it was resting atop his lap, and took great care in moving into a more comfortable disposition. He remembered the feeling of their hands interlocked, their pulses beating through one other simply from the connection.

He _really_ hoped Romano grew to love him, because he couldn’t take much more of the arising tension that had developed in his villa. Sometimes, he caught the Italian staring at him with such intensity that it made even _him_ blush. Spain brushed the younger nation’s bangs out of his face, revealing an adorable expression he had adorned in his sleep. The Spaniard loved when Romano was fiery, hot-headed and stubborn, but also appreciated the most of silence he received during their times together. He stroked the Italian’s cheek with his knuckles tenderly, and leant down to kiss his face. _Just this once_ , he promised himself.

Drawing his face closer, Spain first planted butterfly kisses along both of Romano’s cheeks, then up his jaw. But he wanted _more_. Lightly and with the utmost care, the Iberian man pressed a longing kiss onto the Italian man’s forehead, then down the bridge of his nose. And still, that wasn’t enough for him. He rubbed his thumb lightly on the sleeping nation’s lower lip, before dipping down to plant a heartfelt kiss on his love’s lips.

“Te amo, mi amor. Te quiero,” he whispered lovingly into Romano’s ears, and then proceeded to make his lip meet the Italian nation’s soft neck. The smell of flowers and the ocean invaded his nostrils, only influencing the Spaniard to place his head near every open area possible, as long as he could smell those wonderful scents. Spain’s head spun with delight as he felt Romano weave their fingers tighter together [for he still hadn’t let go of their grip], and smiled as he gave the Italian nation’s lips another chaste kiss.

Romano was the only person that ever drove him to such heights and antics, but that was okay with him, because Spain firmly believed that only his true love should make him feel that way. He wished to make Romano scream his name in pure ecstasy at the top of his lungs, with a coat of sweat and tears slicked on his body. The Spaniard wanted to make passionate, pure, yet dark love to the object of his desire. Every time of the day, every place, he would watch Romano with hungry eyes until the lovely Italian had succumbed to his wooing. Spain could see his life pretty much like that, for the time being.

Before settling himself comfortably on the couch to sleep, the nation drew one last kiss from the sleeping man beneath him, licking the bottom of his lips a bit when his infatuation presented to be too much. As he pulled away, he saw Romano stir in his sleep, and his mouth opened somewhat.

“S-Spain,” the Southern Italian breathed, before reaching out and caressing his former caretaker’s cheek. The man was shocked, but could tell from the way that Romano was breathing that he was still very much asleep. But Spain never knew he talked in his sleep; it was new.

The olive toned hand that fondled the Spanish nation’s cheek then advanced to his hair, stroking the curls. On instinct, the older man leant down a bit to make the movement easier for his little tomato, and eventually began to hug Romano’s body to his own, positioning the two so that they were lying on their sides facing each other.

“Spain,” the Italian said more clearly this time, though he was still asleep.

“Mi hai fatto perdere la testa.” Spain frowned, for he did not know much Italian, but continued to listen to the beautiful language that sounded even more so coming from Romano’s mouth.

“Ecciti i mei sensi. I miei sensi sono pieni di te. Nessuno è come te. Con te dimentico il tempo. Vorrei annegare nei tuoi occhi. Sei il sole della mia vita. Mi sono infatuato di te. Oh, Dios mio,” he whispered in an incoherent kind of way, making it hard for Spain to understand what he was saying. Scratch that; he understood _nothing_ that had been coming out of the Italian’s mouth. Then he noticed a shimmering liquid trailing down Romano’s face, and realized that he had been crying while saying those things. The Spaniard made haste in kissing all the tears away, and cupped the smaller nation’s face in his hands, kissing his forehead.

“Oh, Spain, if only you knew… I-If only you understood… God, this hurts,” he muttered quietly in English, before silently sobbing again. While stroking Romano’s hair in a comforting way, Spain wondered what the Italian meant, and what he was talking about. What could possibly be hurting Romano so much? And why couldn’t he just tell Spain straight out?

Exhausted from all the thinking he had to do, the Spanish nation decided to call it a night, and eagerly slipped into slumber with his love in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Ecciti i mei sensi - You excite my senses  
> I miei sensi sono pieni di te - My senses are filled with you  
> Nessuno è come te - No one is like you  
> Con te dimentico il tempo - With you I forget time  
> Vorrei annegare nei tuoi occhi - I want to drown in you eyes  
> Sei il sole della mia vita - You are the sunshine of my life  
> Mi sono infatuato di te - I'm infatuated with you  
> OOkkkayy, so normal people do NOT talk like this, but I figured that Romano's love borders that of something sincere, thus, cheesy ass romantic lines are needed.


	7. Sightseeing & Mutual Understandings

Romano watched as Spain mixed the tomato paste, swaying his hips back and forth as he did so. Mornings never phased the cheery nations mood, as he had noticed, and the inactive Italian was bewildered by that. Still, he continued to throw occasional glances towards the occupied Spaniard, sometimes even eyeing that _fine_ and legendary ass of his. Because who wouldn’t?

The Italian nation was leaning on the kitchen counter and snacking on a tomato, feeling bored out of his mind, when he absentmindedly started humming an Italian lullaby ‘Ninna Nanna’. Romano tapped his fingers on the flat surface behind him and hummed a bit louder, not caring whether or not it disturbed the man preparing breakfast. The reason he was mumbling the tone instead of actually singing was because the lover interest of the song was named Antonio [coincidently enough], and even if Spain may have not known much of Romano’s native language, he wasn’t going to risk it.

With the villa’s French window shudders open and the sea breeze of the Mediterranean blowing throughout the enclosure, a sense of calmness overtook the atmosphere. Along with Romano’s pleasant and melodic humming, Spain felt at peace as he happily continued the slicing of tomatoes. When the Italian was younger Romano had a childish yet innocent voice that the Spaniard could have listened to for hours on end [if he was lucky enough to even be allowed to _hear_ it, which he did…. When sneaking up on the boy], but present-day his voice was deep and full of emotion. It made Spain shudder with delight when the Italian would reach the higher notes in the melody, and though he had never heard it before, he liked it very much. Turning around to face the somewhat dazed Romano wearing a distant look, the Spanish nation smiled at the sight and sighed loudly, grabbing the other man’s attention.

“Ah, my little Roma, you have such a nice voice! Que lindo~!” he complimented, grinning when he noticed the ever growing red spreading across Romano’s adorable face. The flustered Italian’s eyes darted around the room, trying to distract himself with something, when finally he reluctantly met Spain’s gaze. The taller man appeared entranced by the other personification’s behavior, which only embarrassed him more.

“Ch-Che cazzo dici?! Of course I sing well, I’m fucking Italian; we are badass singers! … Well, hummers too! Anyways, stop acting like you’ve never heard someone hum before tomato bastard and get cooking!” Out of shame and guilt, he mumbled a small ‘per piacere’ thinking that Spain had not heard. But he did anyways, and pretended that he hadn’t for the sake of the Italian’s pride. The Spaniard made a low but cheerful whistle and rested his palms on the counter behind him.

“Oh, but I could work so much faster and better if you sang while I _prepared_ , Roma.” The usually oblivious man knew that his words were suggestive and lewd—and had hoped that Romano would notice as well— but the Italian made no indication that he understood or had even comprehended their hidden meaning. Instead, he scoffed and spat a low ‘che palle!’, still tomato red as ever. Spain mentally face palmed, feeling rather shamefaced that he had teased like that. Suddenly, the idea of Romano not knowing what he was hinting at seemed much better than the latter.

“Really? You would work faster?” the Italian asked with a doubtful tone. Spain nodded in reply.

“… Fine. It’s no big deal anyways, just singing and shit. I can do that.” The truth, though, was that he was eager and nervous when it came to anyone listening to his singing; the only exception was his brother. With a deeply drawn breath, the Italian made his eyes half lidded and began his solo.

_Brucia la luna n’cielu_

_E ju bruciu d’amuri_

_Foca ca si consuma_

_Comu lu me cori_

_L’anima chianci_

_Addurlurata_

_Non si da paci_

_Ma cchi mala nuttata_

Spain couldn’t keep his eyes off of the Italian as the song continued, making his heart race with the overwhelming emotions Romano’s voice evoked. Also, he happened to actually _know_ the meaning of the song [because Prussia had made him watch The Godfather Part III and he had liked the instrumental so the Spaniard memorized the lyrics as well], and was moved by the Italian peninsula’s choice. The lyrics—if his memory served him correctly—were about a man who is miserable because his true love is not with him, and he can’t function properly because of that. Snapped out of his thoughts, the Spain reminded himself that he was supposed to make breakfast, so while listening as intently as he could, he placed the toppings on individual crackers, and staying true to his promise that music would make him ‘faster’.

_Lu tempu passa_

_Ma non agghiorna_

_Non c’e mai suli_

_S’idda non torna_

_Brucia la terra mia_

_E abrrucia lu me cori_

_Chi siti d’acqua idda_

_E ju siti d’amuri_

_Acu la cantu_

_La me canzuni_

_Si non c’e nuddu_

_Ca s’a affacia_

_A lu barcuni_

_Brucia la luna n’cielu_

_E ju bruciu d’amuri_

_Focu ca si consuma_

_Comu lu me cori_

The Spaniard had already finished preparing the crackers and tomato toppings with juice, so after the song halted he cheered and clapped in a way that Romano mentally described as “like an idiot monkey”. Though the Italian started out singing with embarrassment in every pitch, he slowly lightened up and became comfortable with the situation.

“¡Me encantó la canción! It’s from The Godfather part three right? Gil made me watch it with him, and I heard the song and liked it, so that’s how I know it. But I guess the song suits you, since it was from a mafia movie and all…” the Spanish man trailed off slowly, noticing the confused look on Romano’s face.

“Eh? What is that supposed to mean?”

“It _means_ that you give off a mafia kinda boss aura, especially with the clothes you arrived in. You even brought a fedora, and I’m sure you have a gun somewhere in your car.” Romano just eyed him incredulously, wondering whether or not Spain had somehow managed to break into his car, or that he was just too obvious. The Spaniard smirked when he noticed the facial expression, and clapped his hands together with glee.

“I’m right, aren’t I? Well anyways, the food is ready so you can grab a plate, and I must compliment you again on your wonderful singing voice~!” and with that, the two brought their food onto the main balcony and set the plates on the coffee table behind the railings. It was only around ten in the morning, so the air wasn’t too warm and the sun was low enough. Romano sipped his tomato juice calmly, taking in the sight of organized buildings and greenery below the hillside that Spain’s villa rested upon. The community didn’t seem too small, and the beach looked as if it stretched all the way to the harbour. Also, a castle that appeared to be ancient was located on a cracked sort of mountain. The man sitting across from him noticed where he was staring.

“That’s the Castle of Santa Bárbara, resting on Mount Banacantil.” He leant back in his reclining chair and bit into another buttered-garlic cracker. “This city is years old, and if my memory is correct, the earliest people settled on the slopes of that very mountain. Grandfather Rome’s men once visited here as well and even ruled for a few years, until his decline, of course. In my pirating days I met many Ottoman corsairs [pirates, in other words] that liked to terrorize this city since it was a major Mediterranean trading port, and that was kind of their thing at the time. Man, they really brought the citizens of this region trouble and my people went into bankruptcy. The War of the Spanish Succession didn’t help much either, and I lost a lot…” he trailed off in thought, the look of reminiscence in his eyes. Romano noticed that he seemed so much older when talking about the past, though it was true that the Kingdom of Spain _was_ a very old country.

“Even you,” the Italian heard, and looked alarmed as he studied the speaker’s face after he had mumbled those words. Green eyes locked with hazel green, communicating with a flurry of emotions built up over years of grief and reluctance. Romano couldn’t understand what it had meant, but he felt as if Spain was trying to reveal his true thoughts to the Italian nation. Suddenly, the Spaniard’s expression changed as his eyes widened, making him appear shocked and slightly embarrassed when his face started to redden a tad. He let out a nervous laugh, trying to ease the serious mood he had created.

“But anyways, the past is the past, and the only thing I can do is to move forward~! But really, I feel like an old man rambling to himself… Hey! Why don’t I show you around Alicante! I mean, my main house is near Madrid and all, but I know this place pretty well too!”

“Huh?” The Italian thought about for awhile, considering the amount of work he had left on his Smartphone and how much of it he could dump on his congressman, and decided that it wasn’t too troublesome to engage in the recreational activity of sightseeing. “Alright, I guess that isn’t bad, bastard. After all, the scavenger hunt isn’t for a few more days, and I have nothing else to do.” _And I’d rather spend all the spare time I have with you, even though we’ll be together for weeks because of the fucking scavenger hunt. Oh shit, I’m such a desperate little fuck._

Spain noticed the conflicting emotions that Romano’s failed to mask from his eyes, but nonetheless beamed after he had heard his answer. An entire day with his little Italian! Ideas for which places they should visit first were listed off in his head, until he Spanish nation finished his thoughts [wow, he was actually thinking].

“Okay then, we’ll leave in a few minutes! Also, we’ll have to shop for some clothes for you since you didn’t bring any; I already washed the ones you wore yesterday. But today it looks like there’s going to be warm weather, so if you want you can borrow my clothes that I’ve had stored in this villa since… well, since a long time ago. I’ve had this place for awhile, and during that time I was around your size.” He didn’t mean to, but Spain was pointedly stating that Romano was small, which made the feisty Italian furious.

“OKAY bastard, I get it! I’m kind of on the short side, but fuck that! At least I can fire a fucking gun straight into a man’s head from meters away, without missing a beat! I happen to be a _very_ badass motherfucker, despite my size!” The shorter man huffed and puffed, making him look ridiculously cute in Spain’s opinion; it took all the willpower he could muster not to smile.

“I understand what you mean, Roma; you are _very_ cool indeed~!” Romano just rolled his eyes at the praise, but the Spaniard had noticed that there was a hint to amusement and triumph written on his face.

After the brunch, Spain wandered into his small storage room and shuffled through one of the drawers until he found a beige button up shirt and khaki shorts that looked to be around Romano’s size. He gave the clothes to said Italian and waited in near the doorway, whistling nonchalantly to himself. When the person he was waiting for returned, the taller man had to suppress his laughter. Though the clothes did fit Romano’s height—and greatly complimented his looks, as Spain had also noticed— the shirt looked loose fit around his torso area, even if the parts covering his shoulders and arms were perfect. Despite his effort, an uncontrollable grin spread across the spectator’s face, and the flustered Italian noticed immediately.

“Wh-What’s that look for, damn it! I’m not skinny or anything, just… slender... and shit… But that’s not my fucking fault; Feliciano is too! It’s fucking genetics, I tell you!” Ignoring that that had rhymed, Romano fumed in silent anger as he watched the Spanish man walk towards him and pat his head gently. _Fucker better not touch my curl again. I mean, it would feel g-good and shit, but I don’t think that now is the time for_ that _._ Spain just chuckled slightly, enjoying the opportunity to caress the Italian’s soft auburn hair.

“Well, Romanito, Rome is _our_ grandfather, as well as Francis’, right? And he and I don’t have slender bodies like you two, although we share Rome’s genes. Not to mention el abuelo isn’t very thin; he’s even more built than me! So I don’t think you should be blaming your body type on genetics, _right_?” All he got in reply was a displeased grunt, which propped the Spaniard to continue. “But there is nothing to feel insecure about, your body is unique, and it makes it you~!” Leaning closer to the Italian, he flashed a cheery smile. “And I like it.”

If Romano was blushing madly before, his face became even more immersed in heat, and it felt as if he were near an exploding point. What the Spaniard said was very… _intimate_ , even for him, and the Italian personification wondered whether or not the other knew how much it affected his heartbeat. For the record, it was fast and loud… insert ‘that’s what she said’ moment.

“Whatever  weirdo! Let’s just get on with this damn tour before I change my mind!”

“Yes sir~!”

And then the two began to walk down the hillside, for Spain assured that traveling on foot was the best way to see the sights. The Spanish ‘tour guide’, as he liked to be referred to as for the time being, led Romano the bottom of Mount Banacantil’s slope, where an elevator entrance could be seen from a distance.

“That was installed after 1963 shortly after the castle was open to the public. Although the Castle of Santa Bárbara becomes a tourist trap during the Saint John’s Festival, it is usually quiet and rarely populated. If you came in another time of the year, we could have gone to the bonfire together because the lights are AMAZING and they hold beautiful fireworks over the sea.” Spain continued his rambling about the history of the site as they were riding the elevator, but the man next to him was only interested in seeing the architecture and the famous La Toreta that was the oldest part of the castle.

After strolling through the dirt covered ‘ruins’ and examining the ancient spectacles with awe, Romano’s attention diverted to a turret that was located at the very edge of the mountain nearing the cliff side. He approached the small tower and gazed down at the expansive Mediterranean Sea that greeted his sights, breathing in the salty air that the gusts carried in his direction. The Italian was unaware that Spain was right behind him, experiencing the same relaxation all the while watching the sunlight bathe his love’s body with gold. It radiated against his olive skin and auburn hair, making him look enchanting in every way possible. Though the two men gasped, they were for different reasons: Romano was amazed by the setting while Spain was amazed by _him_.

After the amazing encounter with nature at its finest, the Spaniard hired a man driving one of those horse drawn taxis and—with every bit of gentleman-like intentions—offered his hand to the flustered Italian below. With a show of resistance, he finally gave in and hopped into the carriage.

“It’s been awhile since I’ve rode one of these,” he mumbled with little enthusiasm.

“Well, doing these sorts of things are good once in a while, right? Anyways, I’ve given our driver instruction on where to ride through so that I can show you the attractions at the same time.” Nodding his head in understanding, the elderly man ordered his horse to movie forwards, and away they went.

While looking at the surrounding sceneries, Romano noticed an assortment of colorful and seemingly old houses all bunched together, climbing the hill. He could see that the narrow streets were decorated with flowers and flags, making it seem like a tiny and comfortable neighborhood.

“What’s that?” he asked, pointing to the object of interest. Spain squinted his eyes and then smiled.

“We call it Barrio de la Santa Cruz. It’s cute, si?” The Italian nodded in response. The Spaniard then pointed towards a neatly decorated area with plenty of flora and fauna.

“That’s L’Ereta Park. It runs from the Santa Bárbara castle down to the old part of Alicante and has lots of levels, routes, decks and rest stops which give a panoramic view overlooking the city. I visit there whenever I come to this city just for the beautiful view!” He threw his arms in the air, trying to seem more dramatic and theatrical. Romano didn’t seem to heed the gesture and appeared un-affected by his seatmate’s cheerfulllness.

Afterwards they had reached the city and passed several mosques and buildings, including the Basilicia of Santa Maria, Co-cathedral of St. Nicholas of Bari, though those weren’t Romano’s personal favourites. He bothered Spain until the man had finally paid the driver a fair sum of money and was dragged by an enthusiastic [if not extremely cute] Italian into the Casa de La Asegurada [which housed the Museum of Contemporary Art of Alicante, much to the smaller man’s delight]. After their touring around the prefecture, Spain had brought Romano Gravinia Palace, where the Gravinia Museum of Fine Arts was hosted [much to their dismay, it was closed that day].

Then they travelled to the Lucerios Square, where the Spaniard bought several shirts and tops for his guest, much to said guest’s protests. After they visited a café and snacked a bit on the bench of a seaside promenade, Spain guided Romano to a walkway next to the ocean. It was nearing evening by then, and the sun set low on the horizon, it’s orange glow casted upon the sea.

“This place is known as Explanada de España, and the path is paved with millions of marble floor tiles. The local people consider this promenade as a meeting place for a traditional Spanish paseo, so of course I brought you here in the evening. And they light up the palm trees and streetlights at night, so everything is very beautiful even after the sun sets~! If we’re lucky, they might be holding a musical event along the waterside.” After his lengthy but informative explanation, Spain took Romano by the arm without thinking and led the two along the wave-designed marble path. The Italian had to admit that the setting was very beautiful, and ended up enjoying his stroll with the ‘annoying’ Spaniard he had attached to himself.

The two witnessed two street performers playing a duet together [violin and guitar], along with an elderly woman singing with the peaceful tune. Almost immediately, the Southern Italian recognized the melody and quietly hummed to himself, though his companion next to him had heard.

“Do you recognize the lullaby? It’s called ‘La Nanita Nana’, and I used to sing it to you when you had nightmares. Ah, but that was so long ago~” the Spaniard seemed lost in thought as he watched the sun disappear behind the fine line that was the sea’s border.

“Yeah, and you were such a crap singer back then too. Its sounds better coming from a woman anyways… but I guess it worked, huh?” Their eyes met, and words weren’t exchanged as their thoughts reached on another, as if telepathically. The past was never forgotten for either of them, and moving forwards towards _their_ possible future was a big step. Coughing awkwardly, Romano walked away from the musicians and started making his way to the decks of the harbour with Spain in tow.

The Italian looked up at the moon, feeling it’s calming effect as silver beams shone on his face. Then he peaked at Spain, greeted by the sight of his calm, tanned face and light green eyes that were rimmed with a sort of sadness. But he was handsome, nonetheless, and Romano’s heart as the yearning to caress his love grew stronger with each glance. Though Spain was terrible when it came to reading the atmosphere, he felt as if a wall stood between his love and him, for what reason he knew not. And simultaneously, their thoughts were in sync with one another: _If only, just for awhile, you could hear what I was thinking. If only you knew of my love. If only I weren’t such a coward. But love isn’t enough, is it? There must be determination as well; am I good enough to have these strong feelings for you? To deserve you?_

Without a seconds thought their glances met once more, and the air had went from awkward to warm. Both men looked at the other with soft, caring eyes, yet neither said a thing. There was nothing that could be said, after all. What were words when actions meant so much more? Slowly leaning down a bit, Spain rested his lips on Romano’s forehead, and the other closed his eyes contently. The heat of his love’s lips was resting on his skin, and that was all the Italian had dreamt of. Whether the kiss was endearing and platonically induced, or romantic and tender, he cared not. Only for that single moment had timed seemed to have stopped, with only Spain and Romano left on the planet.

All that started was a kiss, and it had led to a warm embrace mutually initiated. Still without words to speak, they stayed in the comfort of each other’s arms, breathing in scents and sensations that were innocent and longing. Yet the two were still afraid to meet eyes again, and continued the hug for as long as possible, until the chill of the wind pulled them out of their daze. Looking up, Romano’s face was glowing with scarlet and his cheeks blazed like a thousand fires, but he was surprised to find Spain sporting the same sort of colour. Finally, the more open with his emotions out of the two spoke.

“Oh Roma, I have truly missed you all these decades we have been apart, and now you’ve grown and left me to reflect on my old age. So I will make sure that the weeks we’ll spend together are memorable, for I owe you that much.” He spoke with sorrow drenching each word, making Romano’s heart sink yet rise from the sincerity in his voice.

“Stupid, you don’t owe me a think. Yes, you are an old fuck, aren’t all of us nations? But the separation… thing… wasn’t your fault, alright? I mean, don’t talk like that scavenger hunt shit will be the only times we’re around each other,” he then shyly reached for the older man’s hand and rested it in his own, “because I will probably have more _years_ to put up with you. Yup, a really long time for sure. So… just stop acting like I’ll be taken away again, because that won’t happen from now on.” After his little speech, the Italian couldn’t bear to look Spain in the eye and settled for staring at the ground. The he heard a muffled chuckle followed by a ‘how sweet, my Roma’, and suddenly felt a warm sensation rise in his chest.

Though the Italian wasn’t confident in his assumptions, he knew that his love for Spain was overwhelming and uncontrollable, eager to be released. Quickly and before the Spaniard had time to think he stretched his neck and softly kissed the taller personification’s cheek, much to the receivers surprise. It lasted more than three seconds, but faltered as soon as he felt the eruption of blush spreading to his olive ears. With a surprised expression Spain gingerly touched his cheek, making Romano believe that he had done something wrong. But then he witnessed his former caretaker make a joyful smile that reached his eyes, and knew that everything was fine.

“Th-That was for what you did, tomato bastard. Payback.” he spluttered, barely managing to keep his voice from breaking.

“Of course, mi tomate, though I gladly accept.” The older man playfully ruffled the younger one’s hair, earning a glare in return.

“Yeah yeah, whatever, just take me home so we can eat. Not that your food is good or anything, I’m just too lazy to cook myself.” Spain smiled at his obvious lie, linking his arms once again with Romano’s and dragging them towards civilization.

“Anything for you, Romanito.”


	8. Preparations

Watching the digital clock that was placed on the kitchen counter, Spain impatiently tapped the end of his pen on the notebook he was holding. The Spanish nation could hear the clicking of keys coming from the living room and knew that Romano was working again. It was funny, he thought, that the Southern Italian had to do more work than he did despite being a bigger nation. Then again, Spain _had_ remembered his boss reminding him to not slack off with work during his stay in Alicante… Oh well! He hummed cheerfully and reached for two cool tomatoes from the fridge, creeping into the next room while holding his breath. Spain looked over Romano’s shoulder and tried to get a glimpse of what Romano was working on. It turned out that he was having a conversation with his brother, and the Spaniard had to hold back his laughter as he noticed the frustrated facial expressions the Italian would make.

**Feli** _Veh~ Why didn’t you tell me you were going to visit big brother Spain? I would have come along… Unless you didn’t want me to ;)_

**Me** _Feli you are being an ass and it’s not cute_

**Feli** _Relax fratello, I was just wondering. So did you ask him yet?_

**Me** _Ask who what?_

**Feli** _I thought you going to Spain’s house to ask him to be your partner…_

**Me** _!!!_

**Feli** _…in the scavenger hunt, fratello. What were YOU thinking?_

**Me** _… Shut the fuck up Feliciano. It’s none of your damn business why I’m here so drop it._

**Feli** _Fine Fine, be a meanie~ That’s alright because I already know that you two are going together anyways, veh~_

**Me** WHAT?!!

**Feli** _Yup, big brother France told me so, and he’d NEVER lie to me~!_

**Me** _… Stay away from that perverted fucker, Feli._

**Feli** _Veh~ You’re not denying it so I’m right, aren’t I?_

**Me** _…. Fine, we’re going together, so what?_

**Feli** _Nothing at all~! I think it’s good that you two will spend time together, you know? It’s like a trip for… ummm… FATHER and SON =w=~_

**Me** _… Ew. Don’t ever think that again, Feli_

**Me** _Because the bastard may be old, but he’s not my damn father._

**Me** _Not by a fucking long shot._

**Feli** _If he’s not your father, then what is he? Hmmm~?_

Romano didn’t know how to answer that question—especially since he was talking to his airheaded brother, of all people—and thought of countless smart comments he could reply with, but they all had seemed too… dishonest to him. True, the very mental image of Spain as his father made the Italian want to throw up and die in a corner alone, yet at the same time, wasn’t that what the older man saw him as? A son [or younger brother]? Suddenly, he could feel warm breath tickling his neck and sharply turned his head to meet bright green eyes nearly centimeters from his face. Taken by surprise, Romano dropped his smart phone and instinctively head butted Spain in the chin, causing the assaulted man to fall backward.

“What the fuck?! Why were you so close to my fucking face asshole? Were you looking at my phone or something?” The Italian nation reddened at the thought of Spain reading the conversation he had been a part of earlier, yet he knew that the man couldn’t have been sneaking up on him for any other reason besides the fact that he was a nosy bastard. While rubbing his sore chin and helping himself up, the Spaniard pondered on why Romano didn’t answer his brother’s question immediately, or at least why he had hesitated to do so. Just what _was_ he to Romano?

“S-Sorry, Roma, that was very rude of me. I just thought you seemed really occupied and came to check up on you, that’s all.” It was an obvious lie [if not somewhat true], but the confused look on the Italian’s face indicated that perhaps the man bought it.

“So you didn’t see what was on my phone?” he asked, still suspicious and on edge. The Spanish nation shook his head and tried to beat down the growing guilt staining his conscience.

“Nope~! Anyways, I brought you a tomato~!” he said, and held out the healthy red fruit that he had brought from the kitchen. Romano inspected the gift carefully, and after concluding that it was safe, he snatched it from Spain’s palm.

“Thanks, I guess. Just don’t go being sneaky and shit again, got it? Because the last guy who tried that ended up _sleeping with the fishes_!” the blushing personification threatened, and took a bite out of the tomato. Spain watched as the juices trailed agonizingly slow down the smaller man’s chin, and his eye twitched in frustration. To distract himself, the Spaniard rushed back to the kitchen and bit down a churro… or two… or three… Okay, a rather LARGE quantity of the snack. Binge eating wasn’t the healthiest way to cure his arousal but I did the trick. He heard Romano resume his typing, and the loud clicking of buttons resonated through the once tranquil air again.

Spain grabbed his notebook and resumed writing down their plan for the scavenger hunt. America had written in the email that the nations could bring whatever they wanted on the trip [besides guns, arrows, etc.] and Romano had given his partner the task of figuring out what the chosen items would be. Once he compiled the list, the Italian would check it and point at any missing objects and/or needed ones. Spain smiled thoughtfully as he admired how organized and mature Romano was when it came to certain situations. Getting back on track, the Spaniard jotted down a few necessary items until he had filled up a decent amount of pages [some parts, though, were cute little doodles of tomatoes with curls like Romano’s]. He scanned the page and reviewed what he had written thoroughly.

**_ Packing List: _ **

  *   _Several sets of clothes per person [at least one coat and mittens included]_


  * S _neakers and/or sandals [bring pairs of socks too!]_


  * _HATS~~! [optional but you’re missing out if you don’t bring one]_ _[… can you wear a fedora again please?]_


  * _An umbrella [although I prefer if only one person brought it so that we can share~! <3]_


  * _Underwear [ooorrr you don’t have to bring any , just for when you go outside]_


  * _A tent [but one that’s easy to put together and back because too much work is tiring~~~]_


  * _Blankets [preferably one so we can share~!]_


  * _A flashlight or glow sticks, because they are pretty~ :D_


  * _Electronics [I would suggest a smart phone but America said that only pagers and simple text & call phones are allowed_]


  * _Swiss army knives [the only weapon-ish thing we’re aloud to bring. I mean it, Roma, NO guns]_


  * _Insect repellent [I don’t mind the bugs, but I wouldn’t want my poor little tomato to suffer out in the wild!]_


  * _First aid kit [just in case, though I would NEVER let anything dangerous get near you… I mean us]_


  * _Whistle [I don’t know, I heard that it fends off wild animals and such, plus if you’re in trouble you can just blow it and I’ll find you~!]_


  * _Rope, wires and bungee cord because you never know when you might need it~!_


  * _A good book for when you’re bored_ _and maybe you’re journal too_ _J_


  * _A camera [but not one that’s too expensive or anything, just something that can handle travelling lot’s]_



_And last but not least; EACH OTHER~!!! :DDDD_

After erasing some extra and unnecessary side notes Spain smiled contently, pleased that he had fulfilled the task his love interest had given him, as he simmered into the living room holding his notebook and watching worriedly as Romano paced the area while speaking rapid Italian with an annoyed expression. Though the red-faced nation had distorted his features with hatred and fury, the Spaniard couldn’t help but marvel at the beauty of his language rolling on that fiery tongue of Romano’s. A tongue that the older man wanted to claim as his own with his-

_Mierda!_ Spain had to slap himself out of the erotic daydream he was experiencing as the Italian hung up on the person at the other end of the line and sighed heavily. He was a tad surprised when he noticed the faint blush on the Spanish nation’s cheeks, but thought nothing of it and set down on a nearby reclining sofa chair.

“What is it now, bastard?” Ignoring the tired man’s language and the _slightly_ hurtful name that he had been called, Spain handed his list to Romano and stared at the floor in embarrassment.

“Um, I finished the list that you wanted, Roma.” In all honesty, he was eagerly anticipating what the Italian thought of his list, partly because he wanted to impress the man. Though when he thought about the messy scribbles and doodles that were drawn out of boredom, the Spaniard wished that he had done a better job.

Romano carefully inspected the list, cringing during some parts but appearing stoic most of the time. He was secretly amused [and pleased] by the tomato doodles and ending sentence—though he would NEVER admit it—when suddenly he noticed the intense green eyes that were focused on him. If it were possible, Spain could’ve burnt a hole right through the younger nation with his fixated stare, and it made Romano feel slightly uncomfortable and self conscious. Scratch that, _very_ self conscious. Trying to stay on task, he coughed awkwardly and met his gaze with the other nation’s across the room.

“You’re list is sort of too fucking over the top with items, not to mention that corny as hell ending,” he watched as Spain’s face fell, and it hurt his heart a bit to see that, “but I guess it’s not _that_ bad travelling with someone that wants to prepared and all… I think all that’s needed is to cross out a few of the stuff you want to bring and then we’re all set.” After darting his eyes around the room to try and distract himself from blushing like a madman [which he had already succeeded in doing, much to the Italian’s dismay] Romano finally built up the courage to look at Spain. A rather _red_ and flustered Spain, as he had noticed immediately, then followed by his trademark grin as he laughed softly.

“So it’s useful? Glad to hear, Roma~! And I wrote the last line JUST for you~!!” he confessed, emphasizing the ‘oo’ sound in ‘you’. It both annoyed and charmed the younger nation, and he inwardly celebrated the fact that Spain was aiming for his approval. That alone was enough to leave the Italian nation in a state of distractive euphoria, leaving the confused Spaniard watching him to think about Romano’s reaction and how odd it was.

“Yeah, whatever, maybe even _you_ have your moments, bastard. Now leave me alone, I need to tell my boss that I’m going on this scavenger hunt thing,” he demanded, and Spain cheerfully obeyed, heading towards his bedroom to pack clothes and such.

After finishing the last of the preparations, he then remembered the form left on the kitchen counter and quickly went to fetch it, waving the paper near Romano’s face. The sitting man didn’t respond, which concerned Spain, so he squatted down until he was eye-level with the nation. Eyes hidden under his auburn bangs, the Spaniard couldn’t tell whether or not he was glaring or glowering, though he had bets that it wasn’t very nice.

“Roma?” he asked, carefully not to make contact with the Italian like he had wanted to. It was only then that he noticed that the Southern Italian had his eyes closed, and a blush spread across Spain’s face. Before him was an adorable, sleeping little Romano, yet he couldn’t do a thing! No cuddling, no petting and _certainly_ no kissing; it was siesta time and the nation was never in a deep sleep during such hours, so he was sure to find out and then MURDER Spain. So instead of acting upon his desires and violating [in which the Iberian preferred to think of it as loving] the snoozing Romano, he sat on the couch and turned on the television, flipping through random channels until he landed on CNN. Despite the common belief that Spain was nothing more than an airheaded country with not a care in the world, he actually took it upon his self to watch the news every once and a while. Being a nation, it was one of his obligations that he didn’t mind tending to [mostly because no paperwork was involved].

Romano awoke to the sound of background voices coming from the news report and grunted in annoyance. The man on the couch’s ears perked up when he heard the noise, soon reaching for the remote and turning off the television.

“Had a nice nap~?” he asked, observing the fazed expression on Romano’s face with glee that he concentrated on containing. Said nation only grumbled in reply, pissed off by the fact that he had to wake up to such a cheerful person [when in reality he would have gladly been woken up that way for the rest of his life by none other than Spain himself].

“Okay then, well we’ll we need to fill out this form that was attached to an email Eyebrows sent everyone because apparently it’s important,” he said, frowning slightly when he thought about the English sender. It made Romano smile knowing that even Spain could hate another, especially by using such a fitting nickname like ‘Eyebrows’. To his discomfort, the Spaniard caught the smile and followed in suit. The Italian—quite embarrassed by then— tried to swerve his thoughts in a different direction, fighting down the crimson blaze on his cheeks.

“Right, then, so what is that we have to write?” he asked with a bored voice.

“Err, well first it says we write down our full nation names in both English and our native languages. So I guess for me it’s ‘Kingdom of Spain’ and ‘Reigno de España’, and for you it would be ‘Republic of Italy’ and ‘Republicca Italia’. Um, I’ll just put ‘South’ in parentheses so it clears up confusion.” He quickly wrote down the said titles, and with readable handwriting, to Romano’s very surprise [he pegged Spain to be the type that had sloppy penmanship].

“Then what?”

“Our human names.” A sudden spark of interest brightened his eyes as he met the Italian’s , making said Italian blush furiously for being caught. “Say, Roma, what _is_ your human name?” The man was caught off guard a bit, then grimaced a bit after interanally scolding himself. Of course, since Spain wasn’t around during his unification, the man did not know what his official human name was. It was only understandable, yet it hurt Romano a bit, because even _Germany_ knew what it was [not like the ‘kraut’ was every allowed to call him by it]. Still, he cleared his throat and answered with a composed and professional voice.

“It’s Lovino Vargas.” The Spaniard happily clapped his hands together and wrote the name down, adding extra flourishes for the ‘L’ and ‘V’.

“Do you remember _my_ human name?” he asked Romano, curiously wondering whether or not the other recalled a name he had learnt so long ago when Spain saw him as a child. Despite his growing refusal to admit it, Romano _had_ kept his former caretaker’s name locked within the recesses of his mind; it was something he knew he could never forget. But the Italian didn’t want to seem needy or caring—believing that it would make him look desperate in a sense—and instead shrugged as a reply. Spain’s face fell momentarily, a tad disappointed at the answer given, but he smiled nonetheless to hide his disappointment.

“It’s Antonio Fernandez Carreido, okay? I think that they want to know our human names so they can make reservations in hotels and such while we’re on our trip, so I guess we’ll have to call each other those in public.” he observed the Italian’s facial expression for a moment, wondering what the man was thinking. “But if you want, I can still call you Romano because that _is_ technically a name. You just can’t call me Spain when humans are around.” He was reluctant to offer such a deal—partly because the nation desperately wished to call Romano ‘Lovino’ instead—but Spain also knew that his former charge wasn’t used to intimacy when he hadn’t known the person for long. And though they _did_ have quite the long history together, the Spanish nation had to admit that there was also a wide gap of time separating then and the present. So he wanted to make Romano feel as comfortable as possible, naturally.

However, Romano was feeling particularly uncomfortable with not being called ‘Lovino’ instead. Sure, the Italian truly disliked being friendly with others and only called his brother by his human name, but he longed to be closer to Spain and titles were the best he could manage at that moment. Swallowing all his pride, Romano shyly looked into the now-blushing Spaniard’s eyes and frowned a little.

“Y-You don’t have to call me R-R-Ro- you know, in public. You can just say my human name, since it’ll be weird if I’m the only one doing that to you, plus you’re a bastard if you think I’m too much of a wuss to deal with using my h-human name and all,” the flustered man muttered, his cheeks burning crimson as he could practically _feel_ the shock emitting from Spain’s surprised stare. Suddenly he heard immense laughter and gave the hysterical Spaniard a death-inducing scowl.

“The fuck are you laughing for, asshole?”

“Oh Roma, j-j-just-“ he was cut off with more giggles and laughs, and if Spain wasn’t more careful he’d end up leaving a hole in the wall after Romano threw him like he was planning to. After noticing the Italian nation’s balled up fists and tomato red face [which seemed so utterly adorable in his eyes], Spain calmed himself down and picked up his pen once more, though he still remained a bit light headed from his previous mood.

“O-Okay, back to the sheet. It says we have to write our physical ages down… ummm..,” the Spaniard thought for awhile, making an expression that Romano thought was NOT adorable [sarcasm indicated; he thought it was ‘fucking cute’ though he’d never tell]. “The thing is, I actually don’t remember what my doctor had said my physical age was, sooo,” he trailed off, watching as his secret love/crush-person made a rather annoyed face.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Seriously?” he asked with his brows knit.

“Yup~! It never really seemed that important, that’s all!~” the Spaniard cheerfully admitted, making Romano want to face palm. In which he did. _I have the lousiest not-so-secret-crush-according-to-Feliciano on an idiot, and said crush happens to be a major diltz to boot. Whup dee fucking doo, I’m so damn sad_. Suddenly he heard an excited gasp come from Spain.

“Wait, I know! I think I remember something about my age being the same as Gilbert’s physical age, so I should just call him up~! Yeah, I think I’ll do that!” and without another second to spare he pulled out his phone and quickly scrolled through the contacts until he found a number titled ‘Gil’. Holding the phone to his ear after pressing ‘call’, Spain anticipated hearing his Prussian friend’s voice after such a long time of separation.

_“HELLO, THIS IS THE AWESOME ME SPEAKING!! HOW YA DOIN TONI?!”_ a loud voice practically yelled through the other end, making Romano cringe at the sound. Yup, that was definitely Prussia. Yet Spain seemed unaffected by the volume and beamed when he heard his best friend’s painfully obvious enthusiasm.

“I’m alright, Gil. How is it going for you and Canada [or something like that]?”

_“Yeah, we’re doing AWESOME right now; he and I have already made it to America and are staying at one of the hotels the guy recommended. You know a lot of teams are already here and the starting time conference held by England is the day after tomorrow, so you and that grumpy Italian should get your asses over here before you miss the deadline and stuff. No pressure though, if you’d rather just cuddle in front of the television like some lovesick idiots while we have AWESOME-AS-HELL adventures over here, that’s totally AWESOME too!! Kesesesesesese~”_

As much as Spain enjoyed hearing his friend ramble, he hated the fact that the last part was particularly loud and that Romano had heard it as well. But the Italian made an effort to show that he didn’t give a damn about what Prussia was saying, waving it off for something idiotic and completely Prussia-like thing.

“U-Um, yeah, we’ll be boarding on a plan over there tomorrow morning, actually, so we’ll see everyone real soon I guess. Anyways, I wanted to ask you what your physical age was, since we kind of have the same and I maybe-sort of-totally forgot what mine was.”

_“Ah, it’s for that paper thingy right? Yeah, while Birdie and I were filling it out I didn’t have a clue, but luckily that cute little brother of mine is always there to help~! That guy knows EVERYTHING, I tell you! Yeah, so anyways he said that my physical age was twenty five, okay? … What? Huh? Oh, AWESOME!! Um, I have to go now because we’re eating downstairs. BYYEE!!!”_

“Yup, thanks and have fun~!!” the Spaniard said, then hung up the phone.

“So what is it?” Romano asked, wondering whether or not their ‘physical’ age gap was as far as it used to be.

“He said his is twenty five, and when I think about it, I _definitely_ remember my doctor saying that mine is twenty five too~!” He then proceeded to writing down his age. “And what’s yours, Roma?”

“Er, it’s twenty three,” the blushing Italian answered, secretly content that two _measly_ years was all that separated them. That, and his temperamental personality plus coward-like nature to run away from all things that scared him. _I’m so difficult._ The Spaniard beamed after hearing the age and wrote down the numbers.

“Twenty three already, huh? That’s very close,” he mumbled under his breath, hoping that Romano hadn’t heard a word. Spain was overjoyed in the fact that the nation wasn’t as young as before which meant that he was perfectly ‘legal’, in some ways [not that that would have stopped the sexually restrained and _perverted_ country, now would it?].

“Okay, last but not least, our team name~! Well, not really name, just a one word label sort of thing. Oooh, I wonder what we should call ourselves?” he wondered aloud, when a simple thought crossed both of their minds in sync.

“TOMATOES!” Spain and Romano called out simultaneously, turning red with embarrassment after they had realized what had happened. In Spain’s mind he could only think _‘So so so so so so VERY cute~!!!’_ but in Romano’s it was more of _‘SHIT SHIT SHIT that did NOT just happen!!!’_ So yes, both men were _obviously_ a match made in heaven, as any could plainly see… Except for maybe themselves, judging from the way the two always took careful steps with each decision and word directed towards the other.

Most call it ‘supposed unrequited love’, though France had a better term, in which their behavior was dubbed by him to be ‘idiocy from the inexperienced’.

“So I guess our label is ‘tomatoes’ then, huh?” Spain asked, trying [yet failing] to hide his smirk. The Italian only grunted in reply, still a bit red since he had not yet recovered from his flustered state.

“Alrighty, we’re finished with the form~! I’ll just fax it to Evil Eyebrows; in the meantime you can pack your clothes.”

“Okay.”

* * *

 

After the rather uneventful evening that included homemade pasta by Romano [because he claimed that America would be full of ‘shit’ food so he wouldn’t be eating _real_ cuisine for quite some time] and a few quiet hours watching Animal Planet [in which Spain would coo whenever a cute creature appeared on screen, much to Romano’s annoyance], the two decided it was time to rest early since they had to leave for the airport in the morning. After the rather happy yet drowsy Spaniard hugged Romano before he retired to bed, he turned away before feeling a soft tug on his sleeve. Facing the blushing Italian with a look of genuine curiosity, Spain noticed that Romano’s expression was both reluctant and sad.

“What’s wrong, Romano?” he asked gently and took the hand that had been touching his sleeve into his while staring lovingly into the Italian’s wondrous hazel green eyes. Romano was so quiet that it worried him, but he practiced self control and stopped himself from tackling the shorter man.

“Umm… Er, well it’s sort of… I guess, uh… Shit, I mean… mmm… We’re leaving tomorrow for America, right? And after that, you better believe your sorry ass that there’s no turning back OR leaving me in that damn hellhole-of-a-country.” He gulped nervously and pursed his lips before continuing. “So, i-if you change your mind and are having regrets about his whole trip shit, _now_ is the time to say that and we can just… not go.”

An awkward and deafening silence passed until Spain finally gave into his urges and held Romano in a bone crushing hug. The Italian nation squirmed and fought back a bit, but after a few minutes in that position, he slowly relaxed [still red faced as ever, though].

“Why, oh why, would I _ever_ regret going on this trip with you, my dear Roma?” he asked softly in a whisper, carefully stroking the auburn hair of his beloved Italian. Romano felt his heart stop when he heard the question and could find no words to answer, though his mind was shouting a million things in return.

_Because I’m moody, temperamental, sloppy, lazy, distracting, a pushover, cowardly, cruel and useless. And so much more…_

“Because this is me we’re talking about. You’d have regrets _because_ it’s me.” he confessed while his head was still nuzzled in the taller man’s chest. Spain was appalled and felt truly bad that Romano thought so little of himself, making the nation want to shower him with affection and kindness.

And love. His undying, unyielding and forever growing love.

The Spaniard gently pushed Romano’s shoulders away from his body so that the two were staring into each other’s dimly lit eyes [they had turned the lights off in the living room].

_Beautiful swirls of gold and green in your lovely brown orbs. My beautiful, precious Romano. My one and only love. I wish I could tell you I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you a thousand times more than my language could describe and millions more than any language on this earth could. Please never doubt me. Please always believe in me. Please accept my love._

“You’ve got it wrong. I don’t regret going on this trip _because_ it’s you, and I’ll never regret anything that involves being around you. In fact, I’d plan hundreds more trips out and around the country—if you’d let me—and never regret a single one of them. Because..,” Spain trailed off as he was lost in Romano’s eyes, because despite the growing need to tell the Italian his feelings, the other man’s insecurities was something crystal clear and apparent. It made the Spaniard understand why his love interest acted so unkind and rude towards others he didn’t know, because behind that façade was a heart as pure as the day he had came into existence. Romano didn’t know what to make of the taller man’s unusual silence and frankly didn’t care about the embrace or the intimate ambience.

“Because?” he urged. Though Spain would have usually smiled when the Italian became out of character and spoke in such a hushed tone, at that moment his breath was merely taken away. The Spanish nation was holding his _love_ close, looking into his _love’s_ eyes and whispering soft things to his _love_ , so it felt very… _Romantic._

“Because I care about you, Romano. I care very, very, _very_ much. And it upsets me to see you feel so lowly about yourself; you are a wonderful person and only a complete _moron_ would want to stay away from you.” He heard Romano’s breath hitch and watched as the Italian’s eyes watered around the corners, making Spain _hope_ that he was crying due to being deeply moved instead of totally devastated. Then Romano did the most unpredictable thing that his feisty self would ever possibly do, and it definitely surprised the Spaniard that he did it to.

… Romano slowly—and in a hesitant manner—stretched his neck until he lips lightly pecked the taller man’s nose. Then, to top the icing on the cake, he wrapped his arms around Spain and pulled him into a warm and tight hug.

All of that made the Spaniard’s heart stop. And his breathing. And his thought process.

In fact, everything stopped in his point of view; you could say time _itself_ had halted.

“Thank you, b-b-basta- … Spain,” he heard and looked down at the shorter Italian man that was hugging him. Suddenly reality made its way back into Spain’s comprehension and he noted several things as the nation gently caressed Romano’s soft hair.

Firstly, the Italian had kissed him. And not just on the cheek like before [anyways, he said it was a payback kiss], but a self motivated kiss on the nose. Which had caused his ever so delicious looking lips to hover above Spain’s in order to complete the said kiss. That pretty much elevated the Spaniard’s heart rate.

Secondly, Romano was _hugging_ him. Yes, they usually did this, but most of the time it was instigated by Spain and not the other.

Lastly, he felt like the happiest, dopiest and most complete nation/man/whatever he was when Romano held him like that; the Italian even swayed a bit as he did so.

So Spain’s heartfelt and genuine grin widened when Romano looked up at the taller nation with half lidded eyes and a crimson face. _What a beautiful blush my love has_. Feeling that there were no boundaries at the moment, he gently stroked the Italian’s cheek, earning a sharp intake of breath.

Romano had never felt more embarrassed in his entire existence, which happened to be a pretty long time considering he was a _country_. After all, the man had _kissed_ and _hugged_ Spain, which went against everything his personality portrayed him to be. Yet there he was, cuddling like a “lovey dovey motherfucker” and even crying… just a bit, though. There were plenty of voices in his head screaming all sorts of accusations, like how he had lost his edge and how he was going to be backstabbed and betrayed. Some even claimed that as soon as Spain saw his _less_ ‘cute’ side he was sure to leave the Italian. However, one hopeful yet quiet thought at the back of Romano’s mind made him want to cling on to hope in the Spaniard.

_What if he loves me too? He cares very much for me, like he said, and even smiles when I give him kisses and hugs. Fuck, he seems ecstatic when I give him the tiniest of affections, so maybe…_

_He loves me?_

_Am I selfish to want him to?_

_Am I only asking for heartbreak because I fell in love with such a perfect being?_

_Sometimes I just want to tell him how I feel and get it over with, but the way things are is so nice yet it’s not because I can’t hug and kiss him in the_ ways _that I’d like to. If he accepts my love and returns it, my world and life would revolve around him. But if he doesn’t, what will our relationship be like?_

_I love him. I love his beautifully coloured eyes that change according to his mood, and the way he smiles when I do something sweet [ugh though I rarely do that]. And sometimes he gives me smiles that I’ve only ever seen him give me, like the kind that make me believe that he… that he…has romantic feelings for me._

_I feel like I’m being led on in a way, but that idiot is too nice and stupid to do something so cruel._

_.. I think._

_A-And I feel like I can trust him, maybe because I’m in love with him or because Spain just has that sort of aura to him… OH FUCK I feel so stupid for mulling on such depressing things._

Their night ended with the two men falling asleep on the living room couch, lying in each other’s warm and affectionate arms.


	9. Intimacy Upon New Levels

There wasn’t much to say about the following morning: Spain and Romano woke up at around five thirty two am thanks to the well prepared alarm set on the responsible Italian nation’s smart phone. After awkwardly stumbling over their words and exchanging embarrassed flustered glances—due to the positions they acquired during their sleep—the two grabbed their bags, got changed and headed to Madrid-Barajas Airport [in Spain’s SEAT Ibiza, much to Romano’s horror].

 The drive would take around four hours and twenty four minutes [with traffic] and their flight left at eleven so Spain suggested that the two would stop while driving through Albacete to grab something to eat [since they left his villa in a hurry].

While passing by the town of Almansa and nearing their rest stop, Romano made himself busy by observing the bluish glow that illuminated the early morning sky. The Spanish countryside was full of vegetation growing on the sides of the A-31, while the mountains and hills could also be observed from the view of the car. Romano could feel his eyelids dropping downwards slowly but he lightly pinched his wrist and frowned with displeasure; he felt that it was unfair [and rather unmanly, for some bizarre reason] to fall asleep while the Spanish driver next to him continued to stay alert. Said Spaniard noticed his somewhat exhausted frown and gently touched the surprised Italian’s shoulder.

“Roma, you can sleep if you want to,” he calmly offered, though the drowsiness in his voice was something he could not mask. The nation in the passenger seat eyed him with a strong level of discomfort, and then shook his head in a determined manner.

“No way, if _you’re_ staying up for the entire trip then so am I,” Romano said, and the topic was reluctantly dropped by the [secretly grateful] Spaniard. He was happy that the Italian would stay up with him during their short journey, yet he also wanted the younger man to peacefully rest. It drove Spain crazy when his desires contradicted each other, not to mention the fact that it required more thinking on his part.

Finally they had entered the city of Albacete, and Romano was surprised to find that the place was the very traditional yet modern at the same time, despite being a minor industrial place. They had passed by the knife museum and cathedral before parking in front of a small café that had a sign reading ‘El Sabor de España’.

“’The Flavour of Spain’,” he translated out loud, finding the name rather charming in a quaint sort of way. Spain beamed and placed a friendly hand on the Italian’s shoulder.

“I’ve been here once with Greece before and the food was _amazing_ ~! I mean it, nothing sums up ‘the Mediterranean diet’ more than what they serve here!” the excited Spaniard cheered, and then he quickly got out of his automobile and opened the half disoriented Romano’s door for him. Before walking into the restaurant, the Italian nation quietly scrutinized Spain’s car and made a slightly dissatisfied grunt.

“What’s wrong?” the more active of the two asked, noticing the way Romano looked at his ride. Said man clicked his tongue and turned to look at him with a tint of red added to his cheeks.

“It’s just that—and don’t take serious offence, you baby, because I happen to be a man of taste—you drive a SEAT Ibiza. A SEAT IBIZA, FOR GOD’S SAKE! Granted it _is_ a Sport Coupé, so that’s a bit of a plus, but you happen to own one of the least attractive cars I’ve seen. And _trust_ me; I’ve seen a LOT of ugly ass cars,” he added to the drama by gesturing to Spain’s car in an insane sort of fashion. “Seriously, anyone’s MOTHER would definitely drive that godforsaken and SUPER safe machine for sure, but SANE nations wouldn’t even be SEEN in that thing! For crying out loud, FRANCE has better taste than you!” Romano continued his ranting while flailing his arms in the air like the true Italian that he was, all the while Spain continued to watch the shorter man speak passionately about one of his interests with such an intensity in his expression and voice. It honestly drove the Spaniard mad observing his cuteness, and soon he could no longer suppress his chuckles. Romano stopped speaking and raised one if his brows with annoyance when he took notice of the laughter. After awhile, the giggles and shaking ceased, leaving a rather red faced Spanish nation and a pissed off Italian.

“Ah Roma, I’m sorry that I have such terrible choice when it comes to mode of transportation, but I’ve never really _thought_ about those sort of things much; I just don’t care. Though I can see that it is practically a way of _life_ for you,” he admitted, and amusedly observed Romano’s intense blush as his eyes shot around to nowhere in particular, indicating that the man was nervous.

“W-Whatever, let’s just eat already; I’m starving,” he muttered and shyly grabbed Spain’s arm as he dragged him into the restaurant. The ambience of the small enclosure was nice and had an elegant yet simple sort of style to it, automatically appealing to the Italian’s senses. Spain [whose arm was still linked with Romano’s] inspected his love’s relaxed features and inwardly celebrated over the fact that Romano had taken the initiative _once more_ and acted affectionate. They were led by a preppy Spanish waitress to a table for two next to the large glass window that had a nice view of the restaurant’s garden.

After choosing from the large variety of fruit and seafood related dishes [which _had_ impressed Romano] and selecting Rioja as their wine, the server left to fetch the specific food and beverages. Spain eagerly watched the Italian seated across from him as he bit into his first bite of the Spanish omelet they had ordered [and decided to share, much to both of their secret delights]. Romano’s eyes widened a bit, and then he went for another bite. Then another. Then another. It was evident that the nation liked his food _very_ much and that made Spain smile his brightest.

“Oh Roma, you’re so cute~! I’m not sure I want the omelet or you for breakfast~~” he cooed, turning crimson when he had realized what he had just said. _Er, that was supposed to stay in my head… it wasn’t too creepy, was it?_ Romano instantly dropped his fork and abruptly choked on his food, gulping down tomato juice to ease the bite caught in his throat. What Spain had suddenly said was very… adorable in his point of view, and the phrase caught him completely off guard. After accepting the frantic pats on his back that a certain worried Spaniard was giving him, Romano wiped his mouth with care and failed to look the man straight in the eyes.

“W-What are you saying, you bastard! You sounded like that fuckface France for a moment there and you should seriously stay away from that pervert; you might catch his stupid!” Then the red faced Italian nation made a thoughtful yet embarrassed expression. “But you ARE already a bastard, so I guess there’s no hope for you, is there?” Spain didn’t really understand what the younger man was getting at, but he _did_ catch on to the fact that Romano didn’t react as horribly as what was expected. So the Spaniard decided to be daring and continue his _intimate advances_ [or what most normal people with a brain call it: flirting].

“Aw, I’m wounded! How can you be so cruel to me when I complimented and praised you?~” he whined, trying to add to his charm with the best ‘kicked puppy dog’ look he could make [since he knew that that had been Romano’s weakness since he was young]. But the semi-flustered Italian still managed a snort and folded his arms with determination.

“Don’t you go trying to act all sad and shit, you wuss! My brother happens to be North Italy— the wimpiest and most cry baby-ish nation on this planet— so I am IMMUNE to all begging! A-And don’t think that being cute is a compliment or anything like that, because I’m not cute you asshole! Handsome: yes. Debonair: of course. Hell, even badass is fine, but CUTE is something I can’t STAND being called!” Though even as Romano was shouting all these things, he felt his resolve slowly fading away as Spain’s facial expression attracted him, and the nation mentally kicked himself for being so weak. The now whimpering Spaniard pouted even more than before and lowered his eyes in defeat.

“Roma, you can be so cold sometimes,” he quietly muttered, although he knew that the other had heard him well. Spain was used to the Italian’s usual distant personality and thought that it would never affect him the way it effected others, but there were times when all he wished for was a hug or _some_ sort acknowledgment. When he looked up he was surprised to see Romano staring at him with a sort of remorseful and apologetic expression, though he doubted that was the case. _Isn’t it?_

Then the younger nation stood up and walked over to the main counter, pulling a couple of Euros from his coat pocket and setting it on the surface with car. He mumbled something to the cashier, which was replied with a slight nod, and then Romano approached where Spain was seated and grabbed the older man by the arm, pulling him out of the restaurant and next to the Spaniard’s car.

“Romano!” he gasped as the Spaniard was roughly shoved into his driver’s chair by a rather red faced Italian nation. Said nation took it upon himself to sit in his passenger’s seat and close the door. A minute of awkward silence passed as Spain nervously glanced at Romano’s stoic expression.

“Umm,” he began, but was cut off by a hand lightly placed on his arm. Alarmed by the action [but not displeased], his green eyes met intense yet saddened hazel green ones, and he wanted more than _anything_ to know what his love was thinking. Suddenly, Romano boldly buried his face in Spain’s arm, surprising the Spaniard with his warmth and the unexpected show of affection.

“Mmmfurrm,” he mumbled, and of COURSE Spain didn’t have a clue what the Italian had said. So he leaned in on instinct, his mouth only a few centimeters away from Romano’s ear.

“I didn’t quite catch that,” he whispered in a raspy voice, for his heart was beating rapidly in his chest and the older nation _knew_ that his face must have been as red as the tomatoes he adored so much. Spain watched the smaller man’s feet shuffle nervously, but nonetheless he was driven to hear what he had _thought_ was said. The situation reminded him so much of that one night after the time when the Spaniard had saved his former colony from Turkey, and Romano had shyly come into his room and thanked him.

The unrefined yet captivating manner that the Italian had displayed back then was similar to the one he was exhibiting at that very moment, with the acceptation of the fact that Spain was in love with him in the latter situation. And lately, he couldn’t help but think that Romano loved him back.

He honestly couldn’t _help_ but think that, despite knowing that they were wishful thoughts just to put his insecurities at ease.

“I SAID that I was sorry, and I KNOW that you knew what I meant to say, you jerk, so don’t try and pretend that that’s not the case,” the Italian said through gritted teeth, confirming Spain’s suspicion that the younger man knew how to read him like a book. _And that’s one of the many reasons why I love him._ The Spaniard laughed softly and caressed Romano’s hair [while avoiding the forbidden curl, of course], cherishing every minute of open kindness from his crush.

“I guess you’re right about that; I _did_ understand you that first time. But… I just like hearing you say it; is that so wrong?” Spain asked in a gentle-toned voice, smiling widely when he heard the Italian’s scoff as a reply.

“You bet it is, bastard. Yeah, you’re really messed up if you like hearing someone apologize more than once, even from something as simple as ‘I’m sorry’,” he answered in return, turning away from the Spaniard’s arm to face the window.

“It’s not simple, Romano. Not at all.” The husky voice that Spain had acquired when speaking the sentence struck the Southern Italian’s heartstrings, making him unable to move away as the Spaniard inched closer to his scarlet face. Romano’s breathing became shallow and his eyes were transfixed on the older nation’s green ones. Despite being aware of the uncomfortable situation he was creating, Spain did not hesitate when he stroked the smaller man’s blazing cheek while leaning so far that he managed to make a few centimeters between the tips of their noses.

“You happen to read my moods and thoughts so well that it scares me a bit, Roma, yet at the same time it also makes me extremely happy to know that you know me so well. And your apologies like music to my ears, lo-“ He stopped himself in the middle the word, surprised that his inner thoughts almost came out. _What I wanted to say was ‘love’, but I never meant to almost actually say it._

Luckily, Romano hadn’t paid much attention to the unfinished sentence, for his mind was more occupied with the fact that Spain was _very_ close to his face. So close that he could feel the other nation’s breath. So close that if he moved the slightest bit forward, they would be _kissing_. The Italian’s mind melted from the pleasuring thought of lip contact with his Spanish love interest; he had wanted to do that for entire _lifetimes_.

“W-What do y-you… I m-mean you, you, you…” Romano wasn’t aware that words were even coming from his mouth; his body just refused to stay _entirely_ unresponsive. He felt stiff and didn’t even notice that Spain was trembling as well.

Carefully, the Spaniard’s lips hovered over Romano’s ones, nearly closing the small distance between them. They were both obviously nervous, and several thoughts rang simultaneously in their minds.

_Kiss me._

_Kiss me already._

_Why do you look so hesitant?_

_I wan’t this!_

The two were scared that they’d overstep the other’s personal bounds by making the first move, so it was basically a turtle race between Spain and Romano. It was tiring and with the way things were turning out, their relationship would go _nowhere_. Yet both nations yearned to be within each other’s hearts and thoughts constantly, and they wanted more than anything to take their ‘friendship’ further.

Suddenly there were several crude knocks on the front window that made the two men jump, reposition themselves and send death glares to the person that _fucking dared_ to mess up their intimate moment. It was the waitress from the restaurant holding what looked like a small phone. Romano’s smart phone, to be exact. Trying to muster a kind smile, Spain rolled down the window and stuck his head out to speak to the woman.

“Sir, you forgot your phone!” she squealed frantically, handing it to the Spanish driver with a trembling hand. “I mean I seriously thought I would miss you two since it happened to be a bit later when I had noticed the phone, but like, it’s a good thing you didn’t go anywhere!” She continued to ramble about things Spain could care less about, and in fact, he started feeling rather murderous towards the girl. A phone! She had knocked on his window like a deranged lunatic for a phone! And yet he was so close to kissing Romano, and he could s _ee_ that the Italian wanted it. Somehow, he just felt like they both wanted the same thing, even if the younger wouldn’t show that he did.

Spain had thought about the possibility long ago, coming to the conclusion that due to Romano’s personality, he would probably try and hide any romantic feelings for another once the time came when he _did_ fall in love. However, the time he pondered on such things was lifetimes ago when he still thought of the younger nation as a brother. Things were different then, and present-day the country was older and more experienced… or so Spain hoped he wasn’t. As much as he loved him, it both hurt and angered him when he thought of Romano together with other people as ‘lovers’.

No, he was determined more than ever that that position was his one and only goal, so he called dibs! … Well, not out loud but he was sure that his love for Romano was very obvious to other nations and that if they knew what was _good_ for them, they would back off.

“Listen, signorina, I thank you for finding my phone and all, but my friend and I are on a tight schedule and we have a place to go,” came the voice of a very grumpy Italian nation, cutting off Spain from his train of thought to focus on his surroundings. The waitress nodded in understanding, blushing a little when she noticed for the first time how handsome and polite her former customer was. She was obviously ogling at his charm and it made the Spaniard want to open his car door and shove her away from ‘his’ Romano.

Said Italian noticed her flustered state but did not acknowledge it [though in most cases he would] for the nation was far too tired to even bother with such petty things. Spain noticed and would have jumped with glee… if Romano had not been around and if he had not been in a car and all. Waving goodbye to the two men with a bright and cheery smile, she practically _skipped_ [much to Spain’s annoyance] back to her working station.

The Spaniard pulled out of his parking spot and drove along the highway that led to Madrid once more, though the scene that had been rudely interrupted still played back in his mind. He felt like a fool for over thinking things and being hopeful, but Romano looked like he _really really_ wanted a kiss… and more. And he also felt stupid for not initiating anything first. _God, I’m an idiot._

The same thoughts were going through the Southern Italian’s head as well when he reminisced on the needy yet insecure look Spain had given him when their faces had been at such a close proximity with each other. It was a hopeful expression that seemed to have asked for some sort of permission, yet he also knew that the Spaniard’s eyes had been studying his own face. What did that mean? Romano wondered if he was as easy to read as a book, and whether or not Spain had discovered his true feelings for the older man. Despite his worries and such bugging his mind, the Italian really liked to believe that they _both_ wanted to kiss the other, and that they _both_ wanted a LOT more than just that, too.

_I don’t want to sound too light-hearted or anything, but…_

_I-I think that bastard wanted to kiss me, and he wanted to kiss me REAL bad. Ah, but that’s just being full of myself, isn’t it?_

Still, he thought about it for some time while staring outside the window at particularly nothing in general.

_So, in theory, if we both happen to be mutual about our feelings as of now, aren’t we just beating around the bush? Acting nervous and shy like a bunch of teenagers? Would we be THAT damn sad to watch?!_

It horrified Romano when he thought about the possibility, yet he could only end it by believing that to be true: if he and Spain were in love with one another but weren’t doing shit about it, they were two very sad excuses for Latin nations. Spain was all about passion! Italy was all about romance! Both men should have fit two and two together from the very beginning, if that were the case.

But Romano had to end his rationalization with a deep sigh. He and Spain weren’t like that, for the most part, and though the elder did show that he wasn’t entirely _uninterested_ in the Italian, said nation couldn’t determine whether it was love or something else.

But he’s rather have love. And with that Romano decided that he would be very bold with his Spanish crush from then on, though he had lack of confidence in his own resolve to do so.

* * *

 

After boarding the plane and getting accustomed to their seats [Romano’s by the window, Spain’s sitting next to him] the two nations relaxed as the aircraft ascended into the sky. It would be approximately eight hours before they landed in Washington D.C. so the two decided they occupy themselves with the built in screens on the back of the seats in front of them. Romano peeked at Spain’s screen and couldn’t help but grin when he saw that the Spaniard was watching cartoons. _Stupid, cute bastard._

The older nation, on the other hand, was completely oblivious to that he was being intently watched by the Italian and continued stifling his giggles as the children’s show on screen continued. Romano couldn’t help but love that about his former guardian; the man was so childish and alive, unlike everyone else around him. Yet at the same time his lack of maturity presented problems for him. The younger man groaned, turning off his screen and peeking outside the window.

_And what do you know, Romano, its fucking blue out there!_ he remarked sarcastically as his eyes begin to droop downwards. Spain’s attention was caught when he looked down to find Romano’s head on his shoulder, the younger man sleeping with an angelic face gracing his features. The Spaniard couldn’t help but tenderly remove the bangs blocking his love’s face and smiling his sweetest of smiles. In his eyes the man was beautiful, be it asleep or when he was ranting about things no one cared about.

“Sleep well, Romanito,” he mumbled in the Italian’s auburn hair, before resting his chin on the smaller man’s head and falling asleep himself.

* * *

 

After retrieving their bags and calling up the hotel they had checked in to let them know that they were in the country, Spain and Romano caught a taxi and hauled themselves in the backseat. After instructing the driver on where to go they watched as the man plugged in his earphones and turned the volume to max. Romano frowned and muttered words in Italian under his breath that the Spaniard knew where not very nice.

“So I heard that practically everyone has arrived at the hotel already, and I’m sure that it’ll be real busy when we arrive, Romano,” Spain said, trying to make conversation with the moody Italian [moody because he complained that he didn’t get enough rest]. He only grunted in response, trying his best not to hurl his rage at the people nearest to him even though he wanted to do so very badly [after all, that was how he solved all his problems]. Suddenly, one of Spain’s words stuck in his mind.

Romano. Spain had called him by his nation name, even when they were in America already. Although he was sure that the oblivious Spaniard didn’t mean to do so [even AFTER he had told him numerous times about the naming deal] and Romano found that it was the perfect opportunity to take charge of the relationship and push it in the right direction. Even with that in mind, he was still nervous.

_Geez, I know I’m Italian but right now I have to man up and do it for… for… for love._

_HOLY FUCKING SHITFACE I DID **NOT** JUST THINK THAT. Girliest shit ever, no way in my fucking LIFE will I think that again. Not EVER._

He cleared his throat and gently rested his arm on Spain’s, causing the older nation to sharply glance in his direction with a confused expression. Inhaling deeply, Romano looked the green eyed man straight in the eye and tried to fight the ever growing blush on his face.

“Lovino. It’s Lovino, remember?” he mumbled in a low voice, though he knew that he Spaniard had heard him, because their faces weren’t that far apart. And last time he checked, Spain wasn’t deaf; just stupid. The larger nation’s voice was caught in his throat, and no sooner he felt blush spreading on _his_ cheeks like wildfire. If only Romano knew that he was adorable when he was serious! Spain smiled and chuckled in response to the Italian’s question.

“Lo siento, Lovino,” he said in the best honey-glazed voice he could manage. It seemed to have some effect on the Mediterranean nation next to him, who turned even more crimson when he had heard the obvious seduction in Spain’s voice. But he wouldn’t let the older man get the better of him, and the determination that he had struck upon during the car ride to Madrid returned to the Italian. Smiling a very sweet and charming smile, along with looking up from his long eyelashes, Romano used _his_ best entrancing voice.

“That’s alright, _Antonio_.”

The Spaniard’s eye twitched and he felt heat rising in his crotch area; it took all his willpower to stop himself from moaning in sheer delight. Did Romano just use the same sugar coated and utterly _sexy_ voice he had tried to use on the younger nation? And worse, was he better at it too?

It was then that the Spanish man knew what had to be done during his few weeks with Romano:

Seduce the living daylights out of his former colony, of course!


	10. Behind the Curtains

Staring at the cream-coloured ceiling with a look of boredom, Romano laid flat on the bed with an air of indifference. He hadn’t heard from his brother yet—nor did anyone else call for him—so the Italian nation didn’t have anything to do until the dinner meeting was held. He and Spain had arrived the night before and—being the true Mediterraneans that they were—the men overslept until ten in the morning. Despite Romano’s protests, the Spaniard insisted that they would call room service so that the two could enjoy breakfast in their room. Much to the Italian’s relief, they had separate beds.

He hadn’t paid attention to that detail due to his exhaustion when they had first arrived at the hotel, but when he thought about it, he realized that he _still_ had to share a room with Spain. Romano worried about several things, including the fact that the Spaniard had become very clingy after they entered America, and even more so when they reached the hotel. He pondered on whether or not it was just his imagination, but it seemed like the older personification was literally going out of his way to make Romano flustered and blushing. And that irritated the Italian **_greatly_**.

The first time he noticed was right after their breakfast, when the Spaniard suddenly started stripping out of his clothes. While ogling and taking in the sight of Spain’s half naked body from the corner of his eye, Romano turned crimson and made great efforts to turn the other way and _stay_ in that position. He asked the older nation why he was undressing, to which the other replied that he needed to “cool off”, even if it _was_ August. Of course, Romano didn’t buy that excuse, but kept silent all the same.

It became too much for him when he was startled by the feeling of warmth pressed against his [lightly clothed] back, and the Italian sharply twisted his neck to find Spain right behind him with **_only boxers on_**. His mind when blank for a moment, and the two held each other’s gaze as Spain’s eyes remained half-lidded and seductive. Caught in the moment, Romano didn’t know what to do, so his body acted for him and proceeded to head butting the space-invading Spaniard.

After a great amount of whining and embarrassed glares, the Italian grew tired of the confusing charade Spain was playing at and stated that he would take a bath. He gathered his scented fragrances and hygienic products from his bag, heading to the bathroom until he felt a muscular arm snake around his waist. With a quickly beating heart and shaky voice, Romano asked Spain what he wanted.

“How about we take a bath together, just like the old days~?”

The Italian’s breathing stopped when he heard the question, and a million pleasuring and _erotic_ scenarios popped into his mind, all involving him and a certain Spaniard in the tub. _God, I’m such a closet pervert. B-But, if we take a bath together, it will definitely **not** be ‘just like the old days’. Hell, we’re both grown men, not to mention I don’t think I can compose myself around a n-naked Spain._ So he shook his head vigorously, feeling a small part of himself whine in protest [most likely the perverted part].

“Th-That’s alright, I can take one myself,” the Italian muttered in a quivering voice, feeling Spain’s hold on his torso tighten a bit more than he would have liked. Romano began to feel hot and _strenuously_ bothered in certain areas, but he refused to give in to his lusty desires and quickly proceeded to twist the bathroom’s doorknob. With a swift movement, the talented nation broke out of the elder man’s grasp and entered the bathroom.

Closing the door behind him, Romano could hear the shuffling of feet coming from the other side.

“Oh, that’s fine then. Just shout if you need anything, okay?” the Spaniard said with a slightly sad tone added to his voice. The younger nation caught on and felt a bit guilty for rejecting Spain, yet he couldn’t regret the decision he made in bathing alone. After running the warm water in the bath and adding oils and fragrances to the water [because it did NOT mean he was girl, just clean] Romano settled into the tub and exhaled deeply as the alluring scents made his body relax. He then proceeded to adding bubbles to the water, followed by a quick scrub of his body.

* * *

 

In the outside bedroom, Spain could clearly hear the sound of water splashing from the other room, and he tried to refrain from thinking about what was going on in there. Despite his efforts, he visualized Romano slowly scrubbing the soap away from his dripping wet, olive toned body. The Spanish nation involuntarily shivered from those thoughts, and he felt a warm sensation creeping in his crotch area. Trying the rid his mind of an active imagination, he knew, was never going to work; the Italian was just _too_ irresistible. So instead, he thought back to his previous flirting attempts.

Undressing in front of Romano wasn’t necessarily one of them; he just wanted to change his shirt. But when he noticed the younger man’s bright red face and nervous voice, Spain had the idea that the other personification was slightly flustered by the action. Since he accepted the Spaniard’s lame excuse as to _why_ he was undressing, the elder nation presumed that he could be a bit bolder with his actions. But apparently, he had crossed the line when he crept behind Romano without his shirt or jeans. Yes, Spain learnt that the hard way, but he just hoped that the Italian hadn’t felt his beating heart during their close contact.

Then there was the ‘bathing together’ thing, which Spain _had_ intended to ask in a flirtatious tone [and he hoped he had pulled that off]. Alas, though, the reaction he had received was similar to the one a few days back when he offered for them to sleep in the same bed; a complete refusal. Sure, they did it long ago when Romano was still a young nation, and Spain didn’t feel uncomfortable with doing it again…

But when he thought about it numerous times, the Spaniard knew that he would most likely take advantage of Romano the _minute_ the two of them joined the tub together. And he supposed that the outcome would end up disastrous if the situation were to get out of hand, so Spain decided that it was best that they didn’t bathe together.

After waiting for another fifteen minutes while seated on the edge of his bed, the Spanish nation began to worry and opted to check up on Romano. Lightly tapping the door, he called out for the other to hear no response seconds later. Again, he repeated his previous action, yet there was still no answer. Although he regretted doing so, Spain twisted the doorknob to find that the bathroom had not been locked [he figured Romano was one that liked privacy]. Peeking ever so carefully and with GREAT enthusiasm, the Spanish man’s sights were blessed with the picture before him.

Romano had his eyes closed with a content expression on his face as his body was covered beneath masses of bubbles. The only parts of his body exposed were his knees—which poked up from under the soap—and his bare shoulders and head. Spain felt his member immediately move with anticipation, and he knew that if he were to give in to his desires then things would get out of hands. Despite the fact that Romano looked alluring and vulnerable, the Spaniard managed to silently close the door without making unnecessary squeals like he wanted to. It truly took _all_ of his willpower _not_ to jump the sleeping Italian like he had wished to do _so_ much.

* * *

 

Meanwhile, Romano opened his eyes and let a nervous sigh escape his lips. In truth, he had been awake the whole time and willed himself to stay still in order to see what Spain would do in his position. He was moved emotionally by the fact that the older nation respected his privacy yet couldn’t help but gasp in awe.

 Yes, the Italian heard the Spaniard’s breath hitch the _minute_ he took notice of the opened door, and it made him quite content. And confident as well. A strange feeling invaded the pit of his stomach, and it felt both foreign and oddly reassuring to Romano’s senses. But he couldn’t place what it was.

_I’m deeply touched. That’s it. My face is red, my heart is beating fast and I can’t stop myself from smiling. I love that bastard so much._

He stepped out of the tub, dried himself with a towel and dressed into the clothes he had prepared. Stepping into the cold outside air, Romano noticed that Spain wasn’t there, and felt surprisingly disappointed. Lying back on his bed, the Italian spotted text written on a small notepad placed near him, and reached over to read the fine print.

_I’ll be out for a bit, I’m just meeting up with friends and such. Dinner will be ready in an hour or so, giving you plenty of time to freshen up, I guess._

_Meet you down stairs. Spain_ _J_

After setting the note back down, Romano pondered on why the Spaniard had left a bit earlier instead of just waiting for him; he couldn’t _help_ but feel a bit hurt. Then again, he knew Spain must have had people to see, maybe even _more_ important than himself.

  _“_ _I care about you, Romano. I care very, very, very much._ _”_

_Yeah, but you’re human too, so there are other people you’ll care about. Not that I’m not the same; I care for Feliciano just like I care for you. But… I love you in a different way. Unfortunately, I can’t stop myself from thinking so possessively about you. It’s really creepy, and I’ve been denying it for so long because of that reason. And… you’ll laugh. You’ll definitely laugh when you know how I feel. Because no matter how much you look at me the way you usually do, my thoughts will never cross your mind._

_I need to deliver the message myself._

And with that goal in mind, Romano grabbed his needed belongings and clutched onto the hotel key, locking the room behind him.

* * *

 

“You’re trying to do WHAT?!” France questioned, his voice raising a few octaves after he heard the absurdly _hilarious_ thing his Spanish friend told him. Said friend blushed deeply and hushed the Frenchman as the two men earned disapproving glares from a few surrounding nations.

“Not so loud! … I _said_ that I’m trying to… to seduce Romano right now,” he repeated with his face growing redder by the second. France inspected the Spaniard’s features carefully, trying to determine whether or not the country was being serious. From the look that he was wearing at that moment, he was.

“Ah, mon ami, I didn’t mean to offend you or anything. Je suis desole, Antoine, it’s just that I can’t imagine why you would even need to _do_ such a thing is all,” France admitted, watching as Spain’s face grew confused within moments. The Frenchman’s eyes widened as realization struck him with sheer force. _Wait, he hasn’t confessed yet? Mon dieu, you’d think that a few days of sexual tension would be enough, but nooo, these two happen to be complete imbeciles!_

“Ah, nevermind; forget what I said. Anyways, how have your efforts been so far?” The Spaniard scratched the back of his head and made a slightly sheepish grin while staring off into space with nervous eyes.

“Er, I don’t think I’ve been doing well,” Suddenly he was cut off when an arm was thrown around his and France’s shoulders. Knowing immediately who the person was, the two nations smiled in greeting to their Prussian friends.

“Hey guys, it’s been too long! As much as I like Birdie, you two are awesome as well!!” sang a rather cheerful Gilbert with a smile that could compete with Spain’s.

“Oui, it is good to see you too. Antoine and I were just talking about he is trying to woo Romano into his bed,” the French nation began, but was stopped when his Spanish friend hit his arm lightly with annoyance.

“Francis, don’t call it that!” he whined impotently as both friends ignored him.

“Is that so? ‘Bout time, if I don’t say so myself. Seriously, Anton, you’re timing is **_un-awesomely_** LATE and all. But I thought you two would be together by now.”

“Que? Why do you say that?” the oblivious Spaniard asked, earning annoyed yet amused glares from both the Prussian and the Frenchman.

“’Cuz I thought that staying in a cozy little villa near an _oh so romantic_ Spanish oceanfront would set the mood up and get you two to confess you feelings and all,” Gilbert admitted, feeling a bit weirded out by the fact that even _he_ understood the sentimental value in that, yet the worldly proclaimed ‘country of passion’ couldn’t. But that was Spain for you.

“Y-You think Romano feels the same way? Because I think he’s interested, b-but I don’t believe he returns _exactly_ the same kinds of feelings I have, though that would be nice,” the Spanish nation said with a dreamy expression, and then snapped back into reality. “And to see what his feelings towards me are _clearly_ , I’m going to do what most people call ‘testing the waters’… Which I _guess_ would be seducing?”

France and Prussia stared at the Spanish nation for quite some time before bursting into fits of laughter. Many other countries turned their heads to see what the commotion was about, while others wished to have nothing more to do with the trio of troublemaking personifications. After a few minutes, the teary eyed men turned their attention to the obviously bewildered Spaniard, patting his shoulder gently and still holding in giggles.

“You’re so cute, Antoine~!”

“Kesesesese~ I wish you could hear yourself!”

Refusing to speak any more about previous topic of their discussion, Prussia started to rant about how awesome of a time he and Canada were going to have during their trip while France listened intently. Apparently he and Monaco arrived together, but no sooner than he thought the girl had mysteriously disappeared. It was apparent that he was worried, but the Frenchman made a great effort in keeping it so that his emotions were masked. Of course, his two closest friends knew better.

While the Prussian and Frenchman argued on where to sit, Spain anxiously scanned the crowd for any signs of Romano. He felt bad for not waiting on the Italian, but he didn’t know how to face the younger nation after what he had seen earlier in the bathroom. A part of him was flustered and felt the need to hide in a corner and repent, while the other made him regret not joining the man in the tub. Spain’s conflicting emotions troubled him greatly as he wrinkled his eyebrows with worry. After asking a few nations if they had seen his love interest [in which the reply was always “no”] the Spaniard began to search on foot for Romano.

Suddenly, a screeching noise was heard through the dining hall as many nations groaned and covered their ears from the distressing sound; they knew what was coming next, and everyone prepared themselves mentally.

“TESTING TESTING ONE TWO THREE! HELLOOOO??! CAN YOU DUDES HEAR MEE??!” America yelled through the microphone, having glares sent his way the minute he did so.

“Aiya, we’re not deaf, aru!”

“Cripes! Belt up, ya bloody galah!”

“Vaffanculo!”

Immediately after hearing the Italian swear, Spain searched the direction that the voice came from until he spotted Romano leaning against the wall and giving America a look that seemed as if it could set things on fire with its intensity. He ran to the Italian while said man was still muttering curses and profanities under his breath. Meanwhile, the North American country seemed unaffected by the murderous stares sent his way and continued to speak.

“Okey dokey then, people, dinner is gonna start in a few minutes so grab a seat and get ready to eat! Wow that just rhymed!” the blue eyed man announced, earning a few sarcastic remarks like “good for you” or something similar to that. Behind him, England stood while pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration and remorse.

“Why on _earth_ did I ask him to announce the start of dinner again?” he kept muttering to himself, listening to the obnoxious laughter his American lover was making while talking to the staff. He walked over to the podium and watched as all the other nations began to take their seats. England noticed that Southern Italy was there, which struck him as odd since the other half of the Italian peninsula never went to group functions. But the Englishman supposed there was a first time for everything. Besides him and America, other nations such as the Nordic countries, the Netherlands, Austria and Switzerland were assisting with the arrangements of the scavenger hunt.

“Attention, please. The schedule for tonight will follow dinner first, and then briefing about the event taking place. Consumption of light wine is allowed, but we will **_not_** be permitting heavy drinking, as there are minors currently in your presence. If there are any questions or concerns, the activity supervisors will be seated at the first table nearest to the stage, so do not hesitate to inquire with any of them. Thank you for your cooperation and enjoy your evening.”

After Switzerland walked off stage and gestured for his sister to follow him, England took it upon himself to walk around and see if he could help people get seated before the servers started to take food orders [and by _help_ he meant bossing others around and _demanding_ that they sit and _stay_ seated].

Spain and Romano sat at the table in the very center of the dining hall with France, Prussia, Canada, Italy and Germany [the elder Italian disliked his seatmates very much but chose not to complain because it was dinner time]. Monaco still hadn’t showed up yet, and it worried her French father-figure greatly to a point where he stopped checking other nations out and started to fidget nervously with his napkin. His two best friends tried to be reassuring, but they could only do so much in end.

“Oi, frog!” a voice shouted, and all heads from their table turned to meet the sight of England and Monaco hurriedly walking towards them. The girl seemed rather embarrassed—judging from her beet red face—and she refused to meet the eyes of curious nations around her.

“Ma chère, où étais-tu passé?” the Frenchman asked with a concerned tone in his voice. The girl acted like she didn’t hear him and faced England with a stoic expression, her palm outstretched to initiate a handshake.

“Thank you for leading me to the table, Sir England. I hope you enjoy your dinner,” Monaco asserted with a professional smile as the two shook hands. Said Englishman presented a similar grin like the gentleman that he was, and then left after shooting a quick glare at France. The female nation took a seat in between her French companion and Canada, greeting all the other sitting nations as she did so.

Monaco had a sophisticated air about her that made people feel the need to keep up appearances around the girl, but she was close friends with Canada and Italy [both halves] due to their strong country relations. She and the North American nation conversed about a few environmental and global issues; while earning France’s intense stare while he tried to determine what she was thinking. Her former father figure wanted to get to know the girl more, but everyone at the table could tell that she wasn’t being fairly open and he was too afraid to scare her off. It was straining to one’s eyes, and Romano grew frustrated and annoyed.

He watched Spain from the corner of his eye while the cheerful nation struggled to cut his steak. As adorable as the sight was, the Spaniard had been at his attempts for nearly three minutes, and Romano grew tired of watching the pitiful spectacle. The Italian reached over, forced the silverware from Spain’s hands and swiftly cut the meat into several bite-sized pieces. He then quickly removed his hands from the Spanish nation’s space and returned to eating his own food. The older nation smiled broadly and pinched Romano’s cheek with affection.

“Aw, thank you for helping Boss with his food, Roma! Eres tan lindo~!” the Spanish nation cheerfully said, making the younger country blush at his compliment. He was unable think of what to respond with, so he just spat a quick “whatever!” as feedback. Monaco couldn’t help but notice their unspoken feelings [like everyone else around the two] and her French blood immediately started to kick in. Turning her full attention towards the Mediterraneans, she began to engage in conversation with the Southern Italian and soon drifted towards her desired topic.

“So, Signor Romano, I can’t help but point out that this is the first time I’ve seen you present for one of these nationwide meetings; usually our appointments are more private, so I assumed you were the solitary type. If I may ask, what compelled you to come here and participate in this event?” the young lady asked, her clear blue eyes never leaving Romano’s. He was straining himself from answer the way he _really_ wanted to [“None of your business!”] but the Italian nation knew better than to yell at a girl, so he smiled in a civilized manner and answered as clearly as he could.

“Though I do agree that my personality is reclusive, I think that a change of pace is needed once in a while.” The Monegasque nation nodded in understanding, although she was mainly observing Spain’s reaction to the reply. His face conveyed no signs of sadness or despair, but she noticed that France frowned while inspecting the Spaniard’s features. _He must be searching for the same emotions as I am. Perhaps this could work as an advantage._

“Père, could you come with me for a moment?” the girl asked in the in the sweetest voice she could muster. Her father gladly agreed [for she _rarely_ called him father] and followed the young nation into the outside hallway.

* * *

 

“What is it, ma petit fille?” he asked.

“I want to help Signor Romano and Señor Spain with their relationship,” Monaco stated firmly, and France’s eyebrows furrowed after hearing her proclamation.

“Mon chou, it’s best that we don’t meddle in other people’s affairs, no?”

“But I’m not _meddling_ ; I want to help them!” she insisted, surprising the Frenchman when the smaller nation raised her voice a tad. _She obviously must feel passionate about the matter_. He couldn’t help but admire her strong resolve and determination.

“I’m sure you can see that the two of them are trying their best to communicate their feelings to one another; it is just taking time. Besides, why do you suddenly feel this way?” he asked. France was genuinely curious as to what compelled the girl to go as far as asking _him_ for assistance. She looked at the older man with a blush tinged face and narrowed her eyes a bit.

“I have known Signor Romano for a very long time, and I am aware of the fact that he and Señor Spain departed on terrible terms. Since then, Signor Romano has looked at things with a bored sort of opinion, and he is rarely honest with others or himself. He also hadn’t contacted Señor Spain up until several days ago—as far as I heard—due to something stopping him from doing so.” The Monegasque nation took a deep breath, and then continued.

“It is obvious that both harbour feelings for one another, and also true that they seem to be trying hard as well, but the way things are going is just _so_ agonizingly slow. Père, I want Signor Romano to be happy again because he has always cared for me just as much as you have, and I wish to take full part in making him smile…,” she stopped talking momentarily and cast her eyes downwards, giving France the opportunity to realize what she had meant.

“Did… Did you like Romano once?” the Frenchman questioned, observing the stiffening of Monaco’s shoulders. She looked away and nodded hesitantly, unable to meet his gaze.

“F-For awhile now, yes. However, quite some time ago I had begun to notice that his heart was already reserved for another. I didn’t give up right away but I did realize that it was for the best that I kept those feelings to myself. Now,” she looked up to meet her father figure’s eyes, “I believe that he and Spain are meant for each other. My past fondness for him has been reduced to something more platonic than romantic, because I want Signor Romano to be with the one he loves.”

The young nation didn’t shed a tear and kept a determined face, making France feel proud of ‘his’ girl for being so strong-willed. He gently stroked her braid and smiled fondly at the shorter country with loving eyes.

“Ah, you are so capable, mon ange. Such a good girl for putting him before yourself; it’s a shame our Italian friend has no idea just how kind you are.” He pulled the willing lady closer and embraced her as if she were as fragile as glass. Although Monaco didn’t like to admit it, the Frenchman’s comforting arms made her feel at ease. After muttering a few reassuring words and letting go of the small principality, France told her to stay put and walked away to retrieve England.

Minutes later, he and the British country were bickering over his request in the outside hallway where the three of them stood.

“Why the bloody hell would you ask for something on such short notice? And who gives you the right to do so?”

“Look, salaud, why don’t you listen before whining like the little bitch that you are! SERIOUSLY, ferme ta bouche!”

“ _You_ shut it, beardy!”

“Va te faire foutre!”

“Why you insolent-“

“I will _not_ let you get in the way of mon petit Monaco’s wishes, connard! At least think about her!”

“M-Monaco wants this?” After hearing that, England quieted down a bit and looked down at the shaken up personification next two the two men. He didn’t mean to scare her; he was just caught up in his arguing, is all. “W-Well, I mean… What is it that you want anyways? I’m sure you understand that your timing isn’t exactly favourable, young lady.”

She nodded her head in response and cleared her throat, shifting her ovular glasses back onto her nose bridge. True, she knew that her request was a selfish one indeed, but some desires had to be voiced else they would be torturing her for eternity.

“Sir England, I wish to inquire that you kindly change Signor Romano and Señor Spain’s schedule to _this_ one here,” she said, then handed him a compilation of locations written on a small sheet of paper. The Englishman’s eyes widened in surprise, and he held the list to inspect it carefully. Monaco could tell that he would refuse, but suddenly a curious America appeared out of nowhere and snatched the material right from his lover’s hands.

“What the- Alfred! That was very rude!” Ignoring England, the global superpower read over the locations and looked down to meet Monaco’s clear blue eyes. _Aww, she’s so tiny; how cute!_ True, the girl was no taller than Liechtenstein, but she held maturity and years of experience that could topple many other nations’.

“Why do ya want their scavenger path to change?” America asked.

“Because I want to assist in the advance of their current relationship,” she answered truthfully, ignoring the incredulous looks she received from England and France. They were both thinking the exact same thing: _She’s so straightforward and to the point!_

The North American nation stared at the small girl for awhile, the cogs in his head turning as he did so, until the man came to a conclusion. He smiled warmly and enthusiastically, surprising Monaco by patting her on the back with great cheer [England feared that the clumsy country would break her if he hit any harder].

“No problem, little girl, the **HERO** is on the case! Just leave this little cupid work ta me and I’ll have those lovebirds together in no time! AHAHAHAHAAH!” As delighted as the Frenchman was to hear that his daughter’s request had been granted, he couldn’t help but groan after listening to America’s obnoxious laughter.

“Wait a minute, didn’t you think it through? We have to change their hotel reservations, hints and instruct different people as the messengers! That takes _organizing_ , you know! Don’t just agree automatically, there are others involved in the planning as well!” England argued, though he could practically _feel_ the murderous aura emanating from France as he stated his valid points. _Bloody frog is too overprotective of his ‘daughter’._

But America didn’t seem phased at all and laughed even louder than he originally had.

“Dude, chill out and relax! I got this one; after all, I’m **AMERICA**!!! This is _my_ country, and the places on this list are pretty cool, so it shouldn’t take too long to get this stuff together.” Then he winked in Monaco’s direction and his grin grew wider. The girl looked ecstatic as she proceeded to hug the taller nation [though her tiny arms could barely go around his torso] practically singing “Merci~!” as she did so.

_DAMN YOU AMERICA_ , the jealous Frenchman thought as he bit his nails to restrain himself from attacking the American, _DAMN YOU AND YOUR ABILITY TO CHARM MY DAUGHTER AND STEAL **MY** HUGS._ Although he had to feel grateful to the super power as well, for he had the chance to steal a glance at one of Monaco’s rare _true_ smiles. Which were adorable.

* * *

 

“Why are you helping her?” England asked after France and his female companion returned to their seats. America gave his lover a mysterious smile and quickly pecked the Brit’s inviting lips.

“Because I’m a hero, and heroes help people in need; _especially_ little ladies,” the American answered while sliding an arm around England’s shoulders. “ _And_ because Spain and Romano’s current situation is kinda like how ours was. I mean, that Italian dude and I both grew up being in love with the person that raised us, and that kind of makes it weird for the other guy to also feel the same way. So I understand how they feel.” He proceeded in nuzzling his face in the Englishman’s neck, in which said Englishman quickly looked around before petting his love’s hair with care.

“Ah, I didn’t know you paid that much attention to other people,” he teased, earning a slight pout from America.

“It was obvious, really.”

“Incredible, the oblivious American actually notices something!” England retorted, laughing a bit when his lover’s hold tightened more.

“ _You_ should know better than anyone that I’m not as stupid as I act, Artie.”

“That seems to be the case with most things involving you, bloody moron,” he mumbled in the younger nation’s hair, taking in his scent of cologne and burgers. “Although I really dislike that blasted Spain and everything about him, I have no problems with Romano… just the Spaniard, I suppose.” America laughed and grabbed the sides of England’s face, pulling the Englishman into a loving kiss. After a few minutes of their lip contact, the two pulled away and listened to the sound of immense clapping coming from inside the dining hall. America extended his hand towards England in a gentleman like manner, making the older nation laugh and blush at the same time.

“Shall we introduce this little game of ours to the guests, my love?” the American asked with a charming grin. His lover could only return a similar expression.

“What else is there to do, you great lummox?”

* * *

 

Spain wasn’t really paying attention to the slideshow depicting America’s ‘greatness’ through pictures because he was too focused on the Italian next to him. Romano’s eyes were shifting with hate towards the German and North Italian couple seated across the table, and it seemed like he was going to snap any minute. The Spaniard could practically feel an aura of demonic strength coming from the smaller nation. During the entire dinner he had tried to make passes at Romano and give the guy a hint, but either the younger man was trying _really_ hard to ignore him or he shrugged it off as something other than an intimate sort of affection. That pissed Spain off greatly, and he had a hard time keeping his calm.

Finally, the America glorifying slideshow had ended and all nations in the room heaved a sigh of relief, for it was _that_ bad. Canada shook his head in embarrassment, muttering something about how he was awestruck to how the two even shared the same genes, and had a willing Prussian’s shoulder to lean on for comfort. It made Romano a bit jealous knowing that his brother _and_ one of his close friends had someone to cuddle with, while he had… an oblivious Spaniard. How lovely. Norway briefly stood at the podium and started an introduction of the meeting with a ‘thank you’ to all the participating countries present, and then he gestured for America and England to come onto the stage.

“So, yeah, what up everybody? I’m America—like all of you don’t know that, psh!—and like the little Viking bro said earlier, thanks for coming to this here event!” He winked at the intensely glaring Norwegian before continuing.

“A handful of countries are helping out with the organization and all, so I’m going to read out the list of peeps, ‘kay? Alrighty then: Switzerland, Austria, Liechtenstein [is that how you say it?], the Netherlands, Finland, Iceland, Sweden, Norway, Denmark, Belgium, Hungary, Vietnam, Cameroon, Thailand, Ukraine, South Korea, Hong Kong, Singapore, Iggy and **YOURS TRULY THE HERO** all helped in making this scavenger hunt possible!~ So you dudes should totally clap for them!”

And even though his speech was super annoying and made most want to tear their hair out, everyone complied and clapped for the stated nations. It seemed like a lot of time and hard work was exerted in order to create an enjoyable environment for everyone, so even though most countries were forced to participate by their bosses, they found that the experience could prove to be a fun one.

“THANK YOU, America, you can step down now,” England ordered, clearing his throat as he took a quick peek at his notes.

“Regarding the components of the scavenger hunt, they are very simple: each team is given an individual course that is different compared to others’ schedules. Your locations will be revealed shortly. Follow the instructions given in your booklets that have already been placed into the rooms you and your companion are currently staying in and everything should be straightforward from thereon out. Please note that you must _not_ reveal your destinations to any other partnerships, for that is _obviously_ giving them the initiative to cheat. Which will **NOT** be tolerated by any means, mind you. For more information on how to go about this scavenger hunt, please read you booklets.”

The audience members patiently waited while absorbing as much information as they could, and due to the attention span of most countries of the world… it wasn’t much. England could see the confusion written plain as day on their faces, but found that he didn’t care in the least. America and Denmark then entered the stage, wide grins on their faces as the two of them held lists of numerous team names.

“WELL THAT WAS BORING~! Anyways, now **THE HERO** and my older Viking dude friend Denmark will give you guys your itineraries, so listen up for your guys’ names!” the American announced, exchanging broad grins with the Scandinavian man next to him. Both were as airheaded as it got, and every nation present groaned at the headache they foresaw was coming.

“Thanks, America! Okay, so first team is Maple Birds! … Seriously, what kind of a name is that?” he asked as a server handed Prussia and Canada their scavenger hunt agenda, the two nations glaring at the Nordic country and muttering something similar to “an **_awesome_** name you jackass”. Denmark and America continued to call out different team names while making annoying side comments that earned murderous stares from the partners that used the titles. It went sort of like this:

“Kitty Cats! Do you dudes have a cat fetish or something?” Japan and Greece resisted the urge to stab America because unfortunately, murder was illegal and he couldn’t be killed anyways.

“Sunflowers & Pandas! Yikes that’s really _girly_!” Russia nearly hurled his pickaxe at Denmark while China took his anger out on the poor silverware near him.

“Fabulously Pink! Seriously, that’s bland! Where is the creativity?” Poland would have killed them right on the spot had there not been Lithuania to hold the country back.

“Chanson for Lilies! Ooh I know you’re the Frenchies right?” Due to the fact that America had done the girl a favour earlier, Monaco didn’t frown although she and France winced after hearing the crude name used to describe them.

“Wurst Pasta! Eww is that edible?” Even Italy displayed a dark expression while metaphorically throwing daggers with his eyes at the obnoxious Scandinavian nation.

While both idiotic countries kept up their aggravating charade, the nations behind them were groaning with embarrassment and remorse; _especially_ England and Norway. Both exchanged weary glances and seemed to telepathically ask the same thing: _Should we kill them now or later?_ Finally, the two speakers had reached their last group, which _happened_ to be America’s star project, in his mind at least.

“Okey dokey then, last but not least is the Tomatoes group~! Aren’t they cuuuuuute~?” And then Romano snapped as the small Italian shot up and turned red with anger. Spain held onto his partner [happily squeezing tight] as he tried to pull the pissed off nation back in his seat, though it was quite difficult to do so.

“VAFFANCULO LEMME GO STRONZO I’M GOING TO KILL THAT GRASSONE BASTARDO!!!” he shouted at the top of his lungs, squirming in the Spaniard’s grasp. Most countries were used to his outbursts and watched in amusement, but all their thoughts seemed to be in sync: _I wouldn’t mind helping Romano kill those dickheads._ Yes, they were all that offended.

Meanwhile, America and Denmark were laughing their asses off and appeared to be having a blast watching the Italian nation infuriated. Spain knew that was helping Romano calm down in the least bit, and he felt a fist slam into his gut. _Damn the little guy packs a punch._

“MISERABILI PEZZI DI MERDA! SHUT THE FUCK UP NO ONE GIVES A SHIT ABOUT YOUR SIDE COMMENTS NOT TO MENTION THE FACT THAT YOU CALLED ME **CUTE** YOU MARMOCCHIO! **NO ONE CALLES ME THAT AND LIVES!!!** ”

“Calmarse, por favor! Romano!”

“AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAH!!!~”

“STAI ZITTO IMBECILLE!!”

“America, Denmark, you guys are **_not_** helping at all! Romano! _¡Tranquilízate!_ ”

“LOL THIS GUY IS HILARIOUS AHAHAHAHAH!!~”

“ **WILL ALL OF YOU SHUT THE _BLOODY_ FUCK UP???!!”**

Everyone silenced and turned to meet a red faced and practically _fuming_ England give everyone murderous eyes scary enough to make even _America_ shiver in fear. He then made a stone cold grin in the direction of Spain and Romano’s table, making both nations immediately sit back down. Motioning for a frightened female server to come forward, he handed her their list and shooed the woman away. Afterwards, he gave the North American country and his Nordic friend a look that said “fuck with me right now and I’ll kill you both with my fucking _hands_ tied behind my back”. Both shied away from the stage and mentally prepared themselves from the ass whipping that was sure to commence in time.

Spain thanked the terrified server after she handed him their list and literally ran away. He scooted nearer to Romano so the two of them could take a look at their given locations.

**TEAM** : TOMATOES

**MEMBERS** : ANTONIO FERNANDEZ CARREIDO [KINGDOM OF SPAIN] & LOVINO ‘ROMANO’ VARGAS [REPUBLIC OF ITALY (SOUTH)]

**LOCATIONS:**

1) Cape Cod, Massachusetts

2) Columbus, Indiana

3) Saint Augustine, Florida

4) Taos, New Mexico

5) Napa Valley, California

**FOR MORE INFORMATION, PLEASE REFER TO THE BOOKLET**

After re-reading the text a few times, a small smile crept on the Southern Italian’s face.

They were well on their way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there was a bit of USUK and past unrequited Monaco/Romano in this chapter. Don't worry, though, she's over it, as you can probably tell.


	11. The Night Before

“What are you doing?” Romano asked as he watched the Spaniard on the other bed skim through the pages of their newly acquired booklet, a look of confusion on his face that was plainly evident.

“I’m trying to understand what this part of this book thingy means, but it’s written in a language other than English,” Spain answered, holding one of the pages up to the Italian’s face and pointing to the words. After only a quick glance at the text, Romano frowned and flicked the Spaniard’s nose with force.

“Idiota! This is _lingua siciliana_ , and if you bothered to look hard enough you would have noticed… maybe,” he added, sending a doubtful look in Spain’s direction. The taller man scratched the back of his head, inspecting the words carefully to find that it _was_ the Southern Italian nation’s native language written in the booklet.

“But why is there Italian in here?” Spain asked. Romano winced at the question, irritated by the fact that the Spaniard had made the same mistake he had done centuries earlier.

“Sicilian; NOT Italian. They are two _completely_ different languages, sciosso, and if you argue by stating that it is merely a dialect then I’ll have to impale you with something sharp,” the feisty man threatened, eyeing his former caretaker with murderous intentions.

When people believed that Sicilian was a mere dialect compared to Italian, it drove the Mediterranean personification crazy; Sicilian was proclaimed a language before Italian [which derived from Tuscan to begin with]. Knowing that he had struck a nerve, the Spanish nation nodded his head in understanding.

“Lo siento, Roma, let me rephrase; why is there _Sicilian_ in here?”

“Non lo so, maybe they’re just being considerate or something. After all, the first few pages are in Español and they say the same thing that the Sicilian does,” he then observed the written language and clicked his tongue in annoyance. “Although whoever wrote this shit clearly doesn’t know what they’re doing because this is so hard to understand with all the grammatical errors; we’re better off reading the English.” Spain nodded and turned a few pages until he found what he was looking for.

“Okay then, I’ll read it out loud while you’re doing… whatever it is you’re doing. What _are_ you doing, Roma?” the Spaniard asked as he watched Romano scan large maps that were scattered on the floor around him. Some of the papers had certain points that were imprinted with a large ‘X’ while others displayed long lines and small side notes written in pen. He momentarily looked up from his studying and glared at the airheaded nation holding their booklet, tapping his pen on a foldable map of California.

“What does it look like I’m doing? Obviously, we need to know the routes we’re going to drive along and the like, so I’m going over maps of American states; we kind of need to be prepared,” he stated, and then picked up one of the brochures he had swiped from the downstairs lobby [titled ‘Travelling through America for the First Time’]. “This says that most states have different speed and traffic laws, which I guess makes sense. And apparently flashing your lights is usually considered a sign of road rage or something instead of courtesy.”

“Well that’s kinda odd,” Spain commented. Romano shook his head in agreement.

“Yeah, it is. Also, we have to maintain at least half a tank of gas because this country is fucking huge and tends to have expanses of nothing-ness at the side of the road sometimes. Ridiculous, I tell you! It even says that we need all these documents and shit in order to drive freely from state to state! There are too many rules!”

The Italian silently fumed, provoking his signature pout to appear on his crimson face. Spain inwardly gushed at the cute display and walked over to sit on the floor near the spot where Romano was. He care freely ruffled the flustered man’s auburn hair with a beaming smile.

“Now, now, I’m sure that every law has a reason, no? Anyways, if you wouldn’t mind stopping what you’re doing so that I can read this pamphlet, that’d be nice,” the Spaniard said, earning a grunt in reply. _Typical Roma_ , he thought to himself as Spain scanned the page in order to find a good starting point.

“Okay then, I’ll begin with the opening letter:

                ‘On behalf of the team assembled in order to ensure an enjoyable experience in the Annual Nationwide Organized Event for Personifications, we thank you and your companion for acquiescing to join us. In this booklet should be information that proves to be helpful throughout your travels as you continue your pursuits. From road laws to nationally accepted courtesy directed towards the locals, all common concerns are found in the following pages. For more information, you can contact one of our partners at this number: XXXXXXXXXXXX

Warm regards,

                Mister United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, **_Coordinator_**

 Mister Republic of Singapore, **_Budget Analyst_**

Mister Swiss Confederation, **_Head of Security Supervision_**

                Mister Kingdom of Thailand, **_Relations Adviser_**

Miss Socialist Republic of Vietnam, **_Events Manager_**.’”

As Romano listened to the names aforementioned, he was impressed by the nations that were involved in the organization of the scavenger hunt. The Southern Italian had never met some of the Southeast Asian countries but he always heard interesting stories about their culture… along with the mafia and black marketing going on in their countries [one could never be _too_ informed, after all]. Although Romano could _definitely_ see England taking charge of the entire project, being the type of person that he was.

Spain continued to read the booklet, going over guidelines and throwing in random side comments along the way that usually made the Italian use the palm of his hand to hide the grin that formed on his face. It was hard _not_ to smile, seeing as the Spanish nation read everything with an idiotic and childlike sort of confusion. Sometimes he’d point to lengthy English words that _no one_ in the day and age would most likely say, asking what it meant, and Romano would always reply with either “How the hell should I know, bastard?” or “Go get a dictionary and find out if you’re so interested.”

Still, he enjoyed his Spanish roommate’s somewhat distracting presence as the Italian half listened while continuously mapping out different routes and rest stops near their destinations; he wanted to be as prepared as possible. Being so preoccupied and paranoid brought a smile to his face as he pondered on irrelevant things. A long time ago, the smaller nation probably would have felt daunted by their little adventure, but he was a different person present day.

 During the handful of wars that he had been through, Romano learnt a trifle lot from the experience and allies around him. He became less frightened by his enemies[including Germany], joining the Resistenza Italiana during World War II behind his brother’s back. It hurt to betray Italy, but Romano did it for the sake of his people and what he believed was right; gaining that sort of independence established new possibilities for the nation as an individual and as a country.

Even with the troubles he endured due to the Mafiosi, the Southern Italian grew and gained from every blunder that came his way, but that was what Romano was like. After the unification of the Italian peninsula and the ending of both world wars, something in the man changed. True, he had always been the kind of person that was adaptable to most modifications, but that was before the personification had witnessed the slaughtering of innocent humans and blameless civilians.

 He began to feel disgusted with his very existence, and felt torn between his own desires and that of his people. Those were dark times for Romano, and he remembered each memory all too well, but every nation experienced those sorts of thoughts once in a while: remorse, self hatred, angst and the like. He was no different from anyone else, and even suspected that his brother felt so as well, maybe every once in awhile.

“Romano? Are you listening?” a Spanish accented voice questioned, snapping Romano out of his dazed state and back to reality. He looked up to meet concerned light green eyes searching his face for any signs of discomfort, all the while appearing to be notably confused.

“Hmm? Oh, it’s nothing, just keep talking,” the Italian mumbled in return, noticing that he was almost finished with marking the routes and detours on each map. Ah, how time went by when he dreamt of his depressing past while drawing red ‘X’s on paper [sarcasm indicated here]. Spain gave his former charge another worried look, and then decided to drop the topic and continue reading form the booklet.

But as he recited the text out loud, the Spaniard would cast glances in Romano’s direction often, finding the man staring off into space with dull eyes. No, that wasn’t exactly the right word to describe it; more like _lonely_ eyes. The kind that looked as if they had been thrown into a throng memories and reminiscence, enveloping the very existence that was Romano… or perhaps he was just thinking far too deeply… which was why the Kingdom of Spain never bothered thinking too often to begin with, for his imagination was quite wild and random.

He scooted closer to the Italian—noting that the other didn’t regard the action—and carefully viewed the notes and marks that Romano had drawn on the scattered maps across the carpet. It was obvious that the Italian had become quite organized during the few centuries that they had been separated, but Spain wished to know _what_ changed him and made him the way he was now. When Romano was younger he didn’t care about the little details in the acts he carried out, but _this_ new him was completely different. Compared to the little child that quivered in fear from the smallest creak, _this_ Romano was able to stare his problems down with determination.

But Spain knew that the Italian’s core was still the same: fiery and alive as ever. He would always be the person that made the Spaniard’s heart race; be it his voice, eyes or touch that evoked the impulses in the older nation’s chest. And so Spain couldn’t contain his yearning to know more about what he had missed in those years of separation. It may or may not have been his business in the least, but it mattered to the man very much. So he decided to pry, _just_ this once.

“Romano? ¿Estás bien?” he asked, watching Romano as the smaller nation jolted with surprise written clearly on his features. The Italian considered lying and shrugging it off as if his thoughts were nothing, but they weren’t. And for some reason, he felt fine with trusting Spain when it came to his emotions, perhaps because of the grand support the Spaniard could show during desperate times, or just because he loved him. Either way, he shook his head in response.

“No, Spain, I’m _not_ fine. I just… got a bit distracted by irrelevant memories. That’s all.”

“From the _past_ , Roma?” the Spanish country asked, receiving an exasperated sigh from the man seated beside him on the carpet.

“ _Yes_ , bastardo, from the past,” he confirmed, finding the courage to turn his head and meet his love’s curious green eyes. _Like the beautiful Mediterranean, or a forest under the afternoon sunset._ Romano’s eyes softened as he felt Spain’s hand clutch his own, influencing heat to inflame upon the Southern Italian’s face. It was bewildering how one small and gentle gesture could affect his body in such a passionate way, and yet it did. Time and time again, Spain’s presence always brought confusion and euphoria together as one.

“I don’t mind that you’re not fully paying attention, Roma; it’s good to slow down and think once and awhile. But if you ever feel the need to talk—or just to be comforted, in general—I’m always here, right?” The honesty and conviction in Spain’s voice made the sound of Romano’s heartbeat pound in his ears, drawing more blood to the already crimson nation’s face. Nonetheless, he tried to stay as motionless as possible and nodded slowly, but in reality the man was shaking with warm feelings that were far too familiar to his senses.

“I-I.. That’s right.” And then the Italian felt the corners of his mouth involuntarily move until it formed a smile. A natural and heartwarming expression that lit his brown rimmed, gold flecked green eyes. The Spanish man observing said grin felt his entire body tremble with awe and passion as he drank the sight of Romano’s face like he was dying of thirst. _How beautiful my love looks in the dim light._ Without thinking, Spain moved his arm around the smaller nation’s shoulders and used his hand to press the other’s head against his own.

Romano was certainly surprised by the gesture, but it wasn’t like he _didn’t_ enjoy the feeling of leaning on the Spaniard. So, without any protests whatsoever, he complied with the position and closed his eyes, enjoying the deafening silence of their hotel room. Spain would have burst from happiness—had Romano not been present—and deeply wished to place a chaste kiss on his love’s admirable lips, but he knew that doing such a thing was going too far.

_That’s alright, because I can wait; after all, I’m used to waiting._

Both men wanted ‘it’, but ‘that’ particular thing wasn’t spoken of between the two, either because of their lack of confidence or shyness towards the other person; it was like there was an elephant in the room [or in their case, floating hearts and cupids].

Once again, they were going in circles, and Romano was sick of it. He was tired of wasting his precious time with the equally flustered Spaniard near him, never to express his true emotions. Noticing that the Italian’s head had shifted slightly, Spain turned to find a piercing stare burning into his line of vision. All he could do was stay quiet and hope that what he was waiting and expecting to happen next _did_ , in fact, occur.

“Tengo que decirte algo, España,” he uttered in Spanish, his voice merely a whisper, although both could hear just fine due to the close range of their faces. The two personifications were staring into each other’s eyes and exhaling with steady, heated breathes that made the atmosphere around them feverish and tainted. Was it lust? Was it love? No, it was definitely both _and_ more.

Love, lust, passion, romance, yearning and a hint of uncertainty.

“¿Sí?” the older nation questioned, his gaze never breaking away from Romano’s. The Spaniard and the Italian shared equally red faces and muddled feelings in their guts, but neither cared in the least; they were too caught up in the moment to acknowledge the minor details. Romano slightly parted his lips, preparing to speak the words that the both of them had awaited hearing for centuries, when suddenly they heard a quiet knock on the door.

And then two more. And then three more. Followed by seven _bangs_ on their hotel door.

Frankly speaking, Romano was nearing his boiling point as he realized that yet _another_ one of their rare and intimate moments was ruined. Spain groaned in frustration and reluctantly, _slowly_ , he walked over to the door and swung it open, glaring at the hotel employee with intense malice.

“May I help you, _Miss_?” the Spanish nation asked with an acidic tone bordering dangerous. It reminded Romano of the times when his former caretaker would speak to his enemies with such uncharacteristic coldness that would make any shiver in fear. The young woman looked terrified and on the verge of tears, when Italy happened to appear out of nowhere from behind her and pulled Spain out into the hallway, shutting the door behind the taller man. Romano just blinked in confusion and then decided to forget what had just happened altogether, entering their bathroom to freshen up and prepare for bed.

* * *

 

Spain stared down on Italy’s cheerful face, blatantly annoyed beyond belief with both the female _and_ his love’s younger brother. The Italian assured the woman that the conversation he was planning would only take a moment, and after watching her disappear down the corridor, his expression changed completely. Instead of his usual sunny smile, the Northern part of Italy appeared to be frowning and glaring menacingly at Spain, of whom was thrown off by the sudden change.

“What were you and mio fratello doing just now, hmm? Why was he on the floor? Why did he look so red and ‘tomato faced’? And more importantly, why are _you_ just as red and flustered and disappointed looking? Do explain, big brother Spain.” And then the Spaniard understood why he was being privately spoken to in the empty hallway; it was an interrogation. Italy had noticed the scene [and possibly atmosphere] in their hotel room and appeared to be displeased by what he saw.

  _Or maybe all he wants is an explanation, which is harmless enough… Except for the fact that there is no way of explaining what happened back there without angering Feli; I’m **sure** of that, because I know that he has a… protective side as well._

“Um, we were just looking over our booklet and checking maps and stuff, that’s all~!” Spain answered as he tried to keep the composure he desperately tried to maintain evident to the younger nation. But Italy did not look convinced, and he narrowed his eyes with a doubtful look.

“Don’t you _dare_ lie to me, Spain. Don’t you _ever_ make that mistake **_again_**.” The Spaniard gulped quietly and nodded his head, though he still maintained eye contact with Italy. “Just what do you plan on doing with my brother after all these years of not getting in touch with him? You never _called_ and you didn’t even try asking me about him for all this time!” The Italian then curled his fists into balls and glowered at Spain in a way that made him feel very uncomfortable. “You are obviously planning something.”

Shocked, the taller nation didn’t know what to say after that accusation and continued staring at Italy. Then he found his composure and gently patted the younger man’s shoulder, ignoring the glare he received.

“I’m not scheming or planning or _whatever_ it is you think I’m doing. True, it has been a long time since he and I have seen each other, and I _do_ blame myself for being so weak, but that doesn’t mean I have an ulterior motive right now _or_ ever. Feli, I have _missed_ Romano for quite some time, and now that I finally have the chance to spend time with him I’m not going to mess things up-“ he was then cut off by Italy’s harsh words.

“No, you don’t understand. Y-You just don’t! Like many of us, Fratello had a hard time during the world wars and it changed him, for better and for worse. He’s a different person, and I can _see_ from the way you act around brother that you have feelings for him. But my brother is not ready to open his heart.. _yet_. Why must you feel the need to rush things and sweep him off his feet even though the two of you only met again a few days ago? You obviously make him uncomfortable!” Italy questioned, his stare burning through the Spanish nation’s gaze as if he was trying to get his point across telepathically.

But that didn’t discomfort Spain, for he was far too distracted by his immense feelings of anger towards the shorter personification. _He’s just **assuming** these things, isn’t he? Feliciano isn’t even considering **my** feelings in this situation—though brothers do come as a priority so I understanding **that** —and he automatically spews the first things that come to his mind._ Instead of lashing out all his frustration and inner thoughts on the equally cross Italian, the Spaniard decided to use a more mature and relaxed tone with his words, despite his increasing fury.

“ ** _Listen_** , Italy, I don’t think you even know how Romano feels about our reunion. Haven’t you tried talking to him about it? He may not be honest with his emotions _all_ the time, but Romano told me _himself_ that he doesn’t mind being around me, _and_ he’d like for us to hang out more in the future,” Spain stated with hidden satisfaction. He wanted his love’s brother to know that even _Romano_ wished for them to be around each other more, so HAH! No matter how immature it seemed, it just made the Spaniard happy.

“And how about _your_ perspective on this situation?” Italy questioned, not fully trusting what he had heard to be the truth _or_ in the best interest of his elder brother.

“I already told you that I don’t have any hidden agendas other than to spend time with Roma, but… you _are_ correct about my attraction to your brother,” he added, nearly reducing his voice to a whisper. Italy didn’t seem surprised by the proclamation and decided that he wasn’t fully satisfied with the halfhearted confession.

“And how _far_ do these feelings go? Is it lust? Or is it simply small fondness?” the Italian questioned with obvious agitation in his voice. Spain’s eyes twitched, indicating the rather obvious fact that he was pissed off by the inquisition. He would _never_ toy with Romano and string the nation along _just_ to get in bed with him, _nor_ did he find it possible to hold simply _fondness_ for someone as amazing as his love. So, while looking Italy directly in the face and keeping a serious expression, the Spanish personification answered the only way he knew possible to such a question.

“I love him. I adore him. I’m drawn to him. Nothing less than that and _so_ much more than that. But the one thing I will **_not_** do is take advantage of Romano, or invade, or violate… without his consent,” Spain annexed quietly, watching as the younger nation’s eyebrows furrowed and gave a doubtful look to his youthful features.

“You think he loves you? What makes you so sure?” Italy asked, receiving a small and hesitant smile from the Spaniard.

“Who knows. Although sometimes it _really_ seems that way, and it makes me want to pull out my hair when I think too much about it. But I _do_ know that he likes me, and like can turn into love if I try hard enough. Regardless, I still won’t touch him inappropriately until I’m accepted; I can promise you that.” After a few long winded seconds of the Italian’s relentless observation, he shook his head and backed away from Spain.

“I still don’t trust you enough to let you be alone with my brother, but I suppose he can take care of himself; after all, if you become too troublesome he can just shoot you~!” the Northern Italian assured, saying the last part with a shiver-inducing smile on his face which unnerved the taller nation to his very core. “And _trust_ me, big brother Spain, fratello happens to be a very good gunman, and he _never_ misses. **_Ever_**. **_And neither do I_**.”

After bidding farewell with a cheery “Ciao~!” and disappearing into the elevator, Spain let out a heavy breath he didn’t know he was holding in. That night, the Spaniard had learnt firsthand just how scary the Northern part of Italy could be if he tried.

“What took you so long?” Romano asked as he watched an exhausted looking Spain fall face first on his bed. His brother and the Spanish nation had spent a long amount of time outside, and it made the Italian curious as to why that was the case. Being far too tired to lift his face from the soft sheets of his bed, the Spaniard rolled over so he was lying on his back and looked up to meet an upside down Romano’s face.

“Mmm, your brother and I were just talking about some stuff,” he answered, taking a quick glance at the book the Italian was reading before turning his attention back to the man’s face. Romano looked relaxed and a little tired, but he did clean after himself before getting into bed, which proved to Spain that he _had_ changed.

“Really now? You two sure took a fucking long time.”

“Yup.” Wanting to go to bed, the Italian nation dropped the subject and laid his head against the pillow, inhaling the intoxicating scent of lavender. Spain entered the bathroom to get ready, and after getting into his bed and leaning back against the mattress, he turned to face Romano. The younger nation was staring at him with such intensity that it made Spain blush immediately, and then he looked away. Had what he seen been true? Why did his love seem to glow with such a calm happiness?

Suddenly, he felt a shadow cast over his body as the Spanish nation lifted his face and met loving eyes staring into his own. Spain couldn’t move, think, or breathe at that moment, for the Italian was so close to him that their noses almost touched. And then Romano moved forward a bit, lightly pressing his lips against the uncovered part of the Spanish personification’s forehead. It was a long, sweet sort of kiss that made the back of Spain’s forehead cold yet warm [if such a sensation could be explained] and he felt dizzy.

“Buonanotte e sogni d’oro mia cara,” he said in a hushed tone against the Spaniard’s forehead, leaving the older man lost for words. Spain didn’t understand what had compelled the Italian to do such a thing or what half of the sentence meant, but he _did_ know that the meaning behind those words was loving and meant for someone special.

“B-Buenas noches, Romanito. Que duermas bien.” And then both men turned away in their respective beds, hearts beating faster than their average rate.

The truth was, Romano heard nearly everything that his brother and Spain had said. It wasn’t hard to hear nor did he intend to eavesdrop, but both nations were being rather loud so it was out of his control. Through different phrases, the Italian heard his name and words like ‘feelings’ and ‘lies’. He didn’t know what to make of it, but then Romano heard a sentence uttered, and it was as clear as any other that had been said.

_“I love him.”_

The voice obviously belonged to Spain, and it made the younger nation’s head spin with questions when he picked up on the honesty hidden in the confession. Him? Did ‘him’ mean Romano? Sudden realization then dawned on him; yes. Yes it did. The Spaniard was in love with him, and that alone made his blood travel faster throughout his veins and all the way to his crimson face. All the colours in the room seemed to become brighter, and Romano opened his eyes so wide that the edges of his vision became blurry.

_Love. Love. He **loves** me. He was so straightforward and sounded candid judging from the tone and volume of his voice._

_He loves me… and I love him. It’s too right. It’s just too perfect to be true. Was I just hearing things? No, that definitely was not my imagination._

Tears made his eyesight hazy as he curled into a ball on his bed and stared at the darkness that filled their hotel room. The goodnight kiss was very bold, but no amount of words could have expressed the joy and confusion that Romano had felt. They weren’t sad tears; they were happy ones. The Italian was so delighted that he wanted to jump out of bed and tackle his Spanish love interest, confessing his true emotions and whispering reassuring words into the older man’s ears. He knew it would be easy to explain feelings to Spain now that he saw a light at the end of the tunnel, Italy be damned if he didn’t understand what they shared.

 Romano knew that his younger brother only thought of what was best for him—and he was grateful for the interrogation mainly because he found out about his crush’s feelings for him due to that event—but if it got in the way of their relationship progression, the Italian **_would_** confirm his feelings to Italy. No matter what happened from then on, Roman refused to let anything get in his way.

_I want to kiss you right now. I want to jump out from under these stupid sheets and make you mine. Can I? Am I allowed to touch you, since I’ve already seized your heart? No, I have to be smart about the way I approach things from now on; I **will** make sure you know how I feel about you._

_I’ll be the first one to say “I love you too.”_

* * *

 

The next morning, Spain and Romano entered the lobby with both of their belongings, watching other partners dart throughout the large room. England seemed to be talking to each pair individually, giving time for the Spaniard to realize that they’d have to talk to the Englishman as well. _Oh great._ Before they could claim a place to seat, America popped out from nowhere and beamed brightly at his two fellow nations. Romano groaned, the memory of last night’s occurrence still fresh in his mind. The Spaniard next to him, however, remained neutral and grinned at the American in return.

“Good mornin’ dudes, had a nice sleep?” the young superpower asked in a friendly manner.

“Yup, we were just going over the booklet before we went to bed, so we’re well rested now,” Spain answered with an equally cheerful face. The shorter nation next to him just grumbled something inaudible similar to “none of your fucking business, burger bastard” and watched his brother and Germany with murderous eyes.

“Ah, well that’s good. So since your guy’s course is really long and the roads can be real hectic, I got the most **_epic_** ride for you two! AHAHAHAHAH!!” Romano perked up a bit after hearing that statement, interested in whether or not the American had any taste in vehicles. After both European countries bid farewell to their friends and acquaintances, America led them to the car park where their ‘epic ride’ was. The Italian’s eyes widened with shock.

“A Jeep Wrangler?” he asked, examining the mechanism with the eyes of an expert.

“IT’S TOTALLY **AWESOME** RIGHT? This baby has forty percent more horsepower than previous models, can go through snow and mountains like a boss AND the seats are SUPER comfy!” America boasted, giving both men a slight push so they could get a closer look at the mechanic beauty. The Mediterraneans liked the black forest green colour and noted that it was an open-air car perfect for enjoying nature, another common favourite of the two men.

“Thanks America, it’s a great car~!” Spain acknowledged, shaking hands vigorously with the laughing nation.

“Glad ya like it! How ‘bout you, Romano?” the American questioned, his energetic blue eyes unnerving the grumpy Italian a bit [hey, it was early in the morning and he had to deal with his Spaniard _and_ America]. He sighed and threw his things into the back of the Jeep, ignoring the victorious smiled that were sent his way by two rather excited countries.

“Yeah, it’s okay,” Romano responded simply, climbing into the passenger’s chair and fastening the seatbelt [the seats really _were_ comfy]. After thanking America once more, Spain ignited the engine and drove onto the highway, watching his Italian companion pull out a foldable map with many red marks on the paper.

“It’ll take us around nine hours to get from here to Cape Cod,” he said, smoothing out wrinkles on the map.

“Umm, which state is that in again?” the clueless Spanish nation asked, receiving a groan from the man next to him.

“Massachusetts, idiota. Now pay attention, I know you suck at reading a map [which is why I let you drive] so I’m going to be the one giving directions.”

“Ah, gracias Roma. But you know, I was once a Conquistador back in my day and sailed the seas in search of treasure and land, so I _do_ know quite a bit about travelling,” Spain stated with satisfaction and a little pride. Romano just snorted.

“Yeah, on _water_. Not to mention you just read stars and shit and kind of wandered aimlessly, not giving a fuck where you ended up. We’re driving now, old man, so just shut up and listen to my instructions.” The Italian then playfully slapped his driver’s arm, making said driver laugh hysterically before he could regain composure [then again, Romano had slipped a smile as well].

“Si, I’m all ears Roma.” Then he flashed ‘his’ younger Italian a charming smile, making the other blush madly. “And don’t be so mean to me, mi tomate, I may be old but I certainly don’t _act_ my age, do I?” After a few seconds passed by, Romano’s stoic mask fell and he made a large grin that led to a fit of giggles.

“Yeah, you act like a kid! The micro nations have better behavior than you!! Ahahah!!”

“Hey!! No seas malo!”


	12. Cape Cod

At around three in the afternoon, both Spain and Romano grew tired and agreed that they would stop at a local restaurant to replenish their energy [and stomachs]. After wandering aimlessly about the large city of Providence, they spotted a quaint diner that appeared to be open for business. When the two nations walked inside, a robust middle-aged waitress immediately greeted the men with a beaming smile and led them to their booth. They had a nice view of the street from their window and the diner wasn’t completely deserted or too crowded, so the atmosphere felt pleasant.

“Hi there, my name is Susan and I’ll be your waitress for this afternoon. What can I get for you fellas?” Susan asked, pulling out a pen and notepad to take notes. Romano noticed that the menu didn’t have a large variety of choices, but the food itself was decent enough, so he sent her a kind smile and gave his order.

“I’ll have two slices of apple pie, please, and some marmalade jam on the side.”

“Gotcha; two slices of apple pie and marmalade jam on the side. And you, sir?” she asked, directing her attention to the Spaniard that was still looking over his options.

“Umm, I’ll have one bagel with cream cheese and ham, please,” Spain said sheepishly, truly unsure of whether or not he had made the right decision. The woman smiled and jotted his order down on her notepad, humming a bit as she did so.

“Sure thing, hon’. Ya want anythin’ to drink?” Susan questioned, her gaze softening as she noticed the look of alarm on each of their faces. The personifications clearly hadn’t a single clue on what they were supposed to do and didn’t want to offend the woman with any of their actions; both knew not what manners in America were like, and Susan spoke casually as well, so that added to their nervousness. But the uneasy feeling that the two experienced didn’t offset Spain for long as he immediately responded to her question.

“Tomato juice please~!” the Spanish nation sang with a beaming expression that made Romano’s heart melt. Their server smiled sadly and shook her head.

“Sorry sweetie, we don’t make that here, but if ya want I can recommend somthin’ for ya,” she added, noticing the ‘kicked puppy’ expression on the man’s face and taking pity on him. The Italian seated across from the Spanish country simply let out an exasperated and embarrassed sigh, blushing furiously as his agitation grew. _He’s making a fool out of himself, that Spaniard._

“Aww, well then I’ll gladly order what you recommend, Miss Susan,” Spain said, addressing her as if she were his primary school teacher. That only made Romano blush more and Susan giggled a bit at the adorable expressions both wore; Spain’s childlike demeanor and Romano’s blazing red face.

“’Kay then, since ya like fruits so much, how ‘bout a strawberry smoothie?” she suggested.

“Alright, I’ll have that~! What about you, Lovino?” Spain asked and turned to look at the wide eyed Southern Italian. That was the first time the Spaniard had called him his human name, and he had enjoyed hearing a lovely Spanish accent added to it. Still in a bit of shock and blushing furiously, Romano looked up at Susan and cleared his throat.

“A ginger ale, please,” he muttered, trying to maintain a calm face. The woman finished writing down all their orders and, after reading them out loud, she left their table to tell the diner’s cook. Romano looked out the window nervously, wondering whether or not Spain had noticed the affect his words had on him. _I wonder if I’m allowed to call him ‘Antonio’ now._

“Lovi, what’s the matter?” the Spaniard asked, making the man he was addressing the question to turn his head in confusion.

“L-Lovi? What the hell is that?”

“Why it’s _you_ of course! I think it’s a wonderful nickname, and since I call you ‘Roma’ when you’re ‘Romano’, it only makes sense~!” Spain declared, an even wider smile gracing the nation’s tanned features. His Italian companion’s face heated up and the man sputtered expletives in his native language before speaking normally again.

“It’s a ridiculous nickname, bastardo.”

“Language, Lovi~”

“Don’t call me that!”

Meanwhile, Susan watched both nations from behind the counter while trying to restrain her giggles. She couldn’t help but find the two of them cute in every way possible, and watching their ‘lovey dovey’ quarrelling nearly reduced her to tears of ecstasy. Yes, the brunette believed that her customers at the fifth table were together in _that_ way, or perhaps the two were crushing on each other.

 The aged woman pondered back on her days when she was young and energetic like them, looking for the one companion that she would stay with forever. Turning around, Susan watched her son with a loving smile as he prepared the customer’s orders, maintaining a concentrated expression while kneading clumps of dough. _He’s just like his pa, that boy._ Grabbing Romano and Spain’s drinks, she walked over to their table and set the beverages down as gently as possible.

“Here ya go, dears; one strawberry smoothie and one ginger ale. Your food’ll be out in a bit, so just sit tight,” Susan assured, and then walked over to the counter to serve the other customers.

“She’s such a nice lady, like a mother or something. Are all Americans this friendly?” Spain wondered out loud, followed by the Spaniard testing his smoothie with a loud slurp. The Southern Italian seated with him winced at the obnoxious sound and took a small sip of his drink.

“I don’t know, maybe. But if you think about it, she had an accent I can’t really place, so maybe she’s from the good part of America,” Romano suggested. The older nation shrugged his shoulders and went for another gulp from the half empty glass, making his seatmate frown with annoyance.

“You shouldn’t drink all of that, idiot, the food isn’t here yet.”

“Hmm, alright then. Say, where exactly are we right now?” Spain asked and earnt an incredulous look from the man seated opposite to him. Romano stared at the imbecile for awhile, then sighed and pulled a small map out of his coat. Spreading it out a bit, he pointed to an area that appeared to be crowded with buildings judging from the drawings.

“See this? It’s called Providence, which is the city we’re in right now. It’s also the capitol of Rhode Island, which is a state, since you probably don’t know that.” He then used his finger to trace over a dark blue line that marked across the map and all the way to a red ‘X’. “This spot marks our destination, Cape Cod. I think that if we leave after we finish our food it’ll probably take a little over an hour or so to get there.” Spain observed the map once more, and then rested his head on his hands, sighing in defeat.

“So I guess we aren’t that far away, huh? Anyways, where are we going to stay when we get there? Did America already book us a hotel or is it up to us?” he asked, watching Romano take another small sip of his ginger ale.

“Well, in this case he _did_ book us a reservation at some hotel, but not all our trips will be like that. I guess it makes sense for us to get ourselves places to stay, considering that the other locations we have to go to are a bit small town-ish, not to mention the items might have very outdoorsy locations. But for Cape Cod, Columbus and Napa Valley, Hong Kong approached me earlier and said that our hotels has already been taken care of,” the Italian explained, noticing that Susan was walking over to their table with a tray in her hands. He moved the map out of the way so she could set their plates down, but not before she had noticed the paper.

“Ah, so I _was_ right. I take it you two are foreigners out to do some sightseein’?” she inquired, placing their food on the table gently. Both men exchanged glances, and then Spain smiled, letting Romano know that it was okay to explain. He nodded in compliance.

“Yes, something like that. We’re travelling to a few states for… business purposes,” the Italian answered. Susan clapped her hands together and smiled brightly.

“Oh, I see! _Business_ purposes, huh? And, if I may ask, where do you two come from? You look so alike, I’m sure you’re brothers,” she stated, wanting to know more about the cute couple eating in her husband’s diner. The woman noticed both men turn bright red and she smirked victoriously. _Guess not, huh?_

“N-No, miss, we’re not related; he’s Italian and I’m Spanish. We took a flight from Spain all the way to Washington D.C., and from there we’re driving until we reach Cape Cod,” the Spanish nation answered, smiling brightly at their server [although he thought her to be a bit nosy, he supposed that that was just how most Americans were]. Romano simply nodded in agreement.

 For some strange reason, though, he swore that Susan was giving both men a predatory sort of grin, kind of like the ones that the female personifications would make whenever they looked upon their male peers. But he shrugged the speculation off and blamed lack of sleep on his ‘hallucinating’ [however, the poor Italian wasn’t seeing things].

“I suppose that explains you’re accents, for the most part. Ah, well then I best be lettin’ you two enjoy your food. You can always ring that bell over there if ya need anythin’,” she said, then walked away. Romano examined his apple pie with caution, although the intoxicating aroma of the pastry proved its satisfying culinary value. Carefully, the Italian took a bite, and then his taste buds burst with flavour. The outside of the pie was buttery and a tad crisp, but the inside was stick and sweet with chunks of soft, cooked apples. All in all, he liked the pie very much.

His contentment was evident due to the bright expression Romano wore as he continued eating his tart. Spain watched the Italian with glee, finding his way of eating elegant and adorable at the same time. The Spaniard merely took bites out of his bagel, not caring much for the cheesiness of his meal [besides, it was far too buttery for his tastes]. Romano didn’t notice that he was being observed, for he was far too immersed in eating his delicious dessert. After finishing his fourth piece [since he decided that he wanted more] the man finally looked up and met enchanting green eyes staring at him. He blushed furiously, looking away and fumbling with the zipper of his coat.

The two men agreed that they had finished their meal and stood up so that they could go pay the bill. Susan noticed this and was saddened a bit by their departure, but nonetheless she smiled brightly at both gentlemen.

“Now I hope you boys enjoyed your food,” she said with considerate warmth.

“Of course, Miss Susan, it was great~!” Spain assured, patting her affectionately on the arm. Romano paled quickly, wondering whether or not it was acceptable to touch a woman you didn’t know in American society. Susan, however, seemed to brush it off and patted both of their shoulder in return with a laugh. The Italian let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in and smiled at the nurturing woman.

“Well you can thank my son for that. Have a safe trip, you two-“

“Lovino, miss.” The younger nation said, cutting her off momentarily. “I’m Lovino, and this is... Antonio.” Romano stated the last part with hidden pleasure, delighted by the fact that he had _finally_ said his Spanish companion’s name. Said person appeared to be shocked, if not equally pleased as well, and turned bright red from embarrassment.

“Lovino and Antonio, huh? ‘Kay then, drive safe and don’t talk to shady lookin’ strangers!” she warned both nations with the protectiveness of a mother, making Romano let out a small laugh as he waved to her from the diner’s entrance. Although women in Italy could be just as sweet, he didn’t expect to find those sort of people living in the ‘burger bastard’s’ country of all places. Entering the jeep and pulling out their map, Romano studied the paper before giving Spain a curt nod, indicating that it was about time the two left Providence.

* * *

 

After driving past the Marston Mills Airfield and the Bayberry Hills Golf Course, their Italian navigator predicted that it would be less than an hour before they arrived at the Sandbars Inn. America had commented on the great view that each beach had to offer and as Romano stared at the bright beaming sun, he couldn’t help but agree. Cape Cod—locally referred to simply as the Cape—had a hook sort of shape to it, but the Italian could tell that tourism was a booming business year around. The sand was grainy and appeared to be healthy, and different species of birds could be seen everywhere he looked.

“It’s so beautiful,” he muttered to no one in particular, still awestruck by the magnificent sight before him. It had been awhile since he had been to that part of the world, and as a nation he preferred to enjoy his freedom while it lasted. Spain turned for a short moment to look at the younger personification, his glowing auburn hair blowing in the wind. Trying to focus on the road had become a difficult task for the Spaniard, as he was constantly reminded of his love’s presence and didn’t know what to do other than bask in the man’s beauty.

“It sure is,” he whispered in return, earning a curious look from Romano. “Th-The scenery, I mean.”

* * *

 

Minutes later, both men could see the small wooden sign that had “Sandbar Inn” clearly labeled with gold coloured letters and lawn lights, although it was daytime so they weren’t turned on. While Spain pulled their things out of the back of their Jeep and into the lobby, Romano spoke to a woman at the front desk about their reservations.

“Oh yes, you’re the ones Mr. Jones sent over, correct? Here, he said to give this to you and your friend as soon as you arrived,” she stated, and handed the Italian a sealed envelope with the words ‘Tomatoes Group’ scribbled on the back. He stared at it for awhile, and then thanked the woman as he walked over to his Spanish companion and pulled him towards the stairs. Their room was at the very end of the corridor on the highest floor [being the second] and Romano wondered whether or not they were given separate beds. Spain took it upon himself to be the first to see it, and he swung the door open with zero grace whatsoever.

The first thing that both nations noticed was that there was only one bed; a King Superior, to be exact. The baby blue bedspread matched the curtains that gave way for a full view of the vast Cape Cod bay, and one thought immediately popped into Spain’s mind: _honeymoon_. Yes, it appeared to be like the perfect type of guest room for two newlyweds, or perhaps a couple. This notion didn’t escape his Italian partners notice either, and the man’s eyes darted around the room as Romano awkwardly explored a little before placing his bag onto one of the chairs. Silenced engulfed the enclosure as neither of them attempted to make conversation, mainly focusing on unpacking their toiletries and other necessities.

“S-So, this is a nice room, huh?” Spain asked, although it sounded more like he was mumbling to himself. Romano just nodded and picked up the envelope he received at the front desk.

“Yeah, it’s nice. Anyways, I got this from the woman at the counter, and she said it was from that burger bastard. I guess it’s our first clue or something, so I’m going to open it now and get the shit done and over with,” he announced, and then tore the envelope apart before Spain could voice his thoughts [although he would have just agreed with Romano anyhow].

The script of the letter wasn’t typed and the penmanship of the person ‘sucked balls’, as the Italian put it. True, it did appeared scribble-like and illegible on some lines, but the Spaniard gently took the letter from Romano’s grasp and assured him that _he_ could read the fine print with little difficulty. His Italian roommate just huffed stubbornly and allowed the other to read, wanting to get on with it. Spain cleared his throat and began:

_“’Hi there guys, America here! I bet you dudes are lovin’ the room right now, with its epic scenery and whatnot. Just so you know, the walls are **really** thick *wink wink* _ [the Spaniard didn’t understand that part and wished to ask, but Romano just turned red and pressed him to read further] _. Anyways, I’ve written down a riddle that’s probably as old as time or somethin’ like that, but Artie said—and I quote—‘give the stupid Spaniard easy riddles because he doesn’t have the brain capacity to solve **average** ones’ and blah blah blah I forgot the rest. So yeah, here you go! Oh, and FYI the answer to the riddle thingy-me- jig is like a hint on where to go from there. AND just ‘cuz I think you bros are pretty cool, I’ll give you ANOTHER hint: the location you’re supposed to go to is **very** close. Like, very very very VERY very close kinda close.Yup.’”_

Romano rolled his eyes and walked closer to the Spaniard, trying to make out the words written on a small piece of paper attacked to America’s letter. It was fairly tiny and the only way to read it properly from his point of view was to press closer to Spain. The Iberian country’s heat rate raced as he felt Romano’s body warmth against his own, and he was very tempted to act upon his desires. But he knew better, and fought against all the corrupting thoughts that threatened his sanity. Not noticing a thing, the Italian next to him took the liberty of reading their riddle out loud:

“’One day, a man is in his house but he cannot sleep. Irritated and drowsy, he turns off the light in his home and finally achieves rest. The next morning, he wakes up and goes out to get the paper. When he reads the front page it says ‘Thousand of people die overnight’ and he knows it was his fault. Why ?’”

After a lengthy amount of silence, Spain’s arm shot up. His face appeared to be concentrated yet confused, but Romano presumed that the man may have experienced an epiphany of sorts. Either that or he just really needed to go to the restroom.

“What is it, bastard?” the Italian asked with a patient tone, wondering whether or not he would dread the answer.

“Do you think the people died because he had turned off the earth’s power source?” he speculated, surprising Romano with the fact that he was actually _thinking_ for a change. After a bit of reflection, the younger nation shook his head with furrowed eyebrows.

“Although I think you’re close, that’s not exactly it. But..,” he stared off into distance, and then met Spain’s bright green gaze with uncertain eyes, “I think I already know the answer. The thing is… that would make this first part of the scavenger hunt far _too_ easy if I were to be correct.” He thought about it for another considerable amount of time before giving up and resting on one of the balcony chairs facing the bay. Spain followed suit, taking a seat on the reclining chair parallel to Romano’s.

“He lives in a lighthouse,” the smaller personification finally said after several more minutes of silence, “as the station’s light operator. I mean, not only is this riddle well known—like the burger bastard said it was—but it actually makes sense when we consider what kind of area we’re in.”

“What do you mean by that?” the Spaniard interrupted. Romano sent him a harsh glare, but he knew that Spain was better off being well informed so he complied with being the one to do the educating.

“This place has a serious maritime history, not to mention it was one of the first places English colonists settled in when they first visited North America. If you had noticed, there are lighthouses _everywhere_ mainly because there is a great need for them and because they hold historical value now,” the Southern Italian explained, watching as Spain’s facial expression grew less tense and more relaxed.

“So what you’re saying is that we should go to a lighthouse to find our item?” he asked as the man finally started to grasp the concept.

“Exactly. The only problem is; which one?” Pulling out his map of Massachusetts, Romano used a dark purple pen to mark the spots of each lighthouse that was run by the military, and he used green for those that were not. After both men inspected the paper, a random idea appeared in Spain’s mind.

“Why don’t we just visit the closest one for now?” he suggested, using a pencil to circle a spot that read ‘Highland Lighthouse’. “America even gave us a hint in the letter; he said that it was _very_ close. So if it is a lighthouse we should be looking for, this one seems like the best choice for now.” The Southern Italian thought it over carefully, though he didn’t need to think long because he believed that it was a reasonable statement. Nodding in agreement, the shorter man stood up, grabbed his jacket and swiped the keys from their bedside table.

“Okay then, sounds like a plan. Since it’s barely sunset at the moment and the place is about ten minutes away by car, we’re better off leaving right now,” he reasoned, pulling his whining Spanish partner out of their hotel room and into the windy September air. Knowing what signs to follow, Romano demanded that he would be the one driving. The tired and a lazy eyed Spaniard [due to not having a siesta the entire day] agreed without protest and leaned his head against the Jeep’s door frame as Romano pulled out of the car park.

* * *

 

Highland Light was one of the tallest and oldest lighthouses in Cape Cod, and it’s elegant and well kept appearance did not go unnoticed by either of the men. As Romano drove the Jeep down the winding dirt road that led to their destination, he spotted two figures calmly sitting on the front steps of the keeper’s building that was connected to the generator shed. Parking their vehicle in front of a picket fence, Romano and Spain hopped out of their seats and walked towards the two people. They seemed to have spotted the nations and began walking towards them, one with a steady pace and the other frantically running.

“HEEEYYY GUUYYSS!!!!” The Southern Italian immediately recognized the voice and wished that he could turn the other way, but then a sudden thought occurred to him: _Why are Denmark and Norway here?_ All four men met in front of the lighthouse and greeted each other with casual tones [well, Romano and Norway tried to, but they mostly spent their time glaring at the bashful men next to them].

“So anyways, what are you guys doing here?” Spain asked while taking in the gorgeous surroundings that beleaguered him. Norway pulled a letter from out of his coat pocket and handed it to Romano, of whom graciously accepted it with a thankful grunt.

“England sent us over here to give that to you. Its proof that you’ve completed your first trial and can continue to the next,” the Norwegian nation deadpanned, never losing the stoic mask that covered his handsome features. Denmark laughed loudly and pat his lover on the back _hard_ , making said man’s eyes twitch with anger.

“No need to be so formal, Norge! After all, we’re all friends here! Say, America lent us the keeper’s lounge for the night; do ‘ya two want to join us for dinner?” the Dane asked, his blinding smile lighting up his equally bright blue eyes. Normally, Romano would have declined and left before you could say ‘tomato’, but the Italian was hungry by then and couldn’t bear to go much longer without eating [even if it meant Nordic food was on the menu]. He was about to accept when Spain spoke before the younger man could utter a word.

“Thanks for the kind offer, really, but Lovi and I have plans for tonight,” the Spaniard politely stated, earning a knowing look from his Danish friend and a boisterous wink as well. Norway’s eyebrows raised and he gave Romano a slightly questioning impression, in which the Italian just blushed furiously and couldn’t find his voice to speak with.

“ _Ahhh_ , well then I wouldn’t want to get in the way of your _plans_ , would I? Anyways, Norge and I are going to head back inside since it’s getting close to dark. Hope you two enjoy your scavenger hunt thing!” Denmark expressed care freely, and then he skipped along to catch up with his annoyed lover. Spain envied the man deeply, although he could see himself doing the same thing with Romano, as he ran over to the Jeep to get into his seat before the little Italian left him stranded.

* * *

 

When they arrived at their guest room both men agreed that they were hungry, but Romano stated that he wanted to take a shower first, so Spain arranged for them to meet at the ocean side fire pit area. After the Southern Italian got dressed and prepped up a bit [for ten minutes, to be exact] he took off his shoes and stepped onto the cool white sand of the beach. Because it was still slightly chilly, Romano decided to just roll up his dress slacks to his knees and keep his button up dress shirt on beneath a thin hoodie. The nation pondered back on what Spain had said about having ‘plans’ tonight, and didn’t recall making such a promise to the Spaniard, so perhaps it was… a surprise. Or at least the Italian _hoped_ it was.

“Over here, Lovi~!” a voice called out, and Romano’s heart skipped a beat. He would never admit it, but no matter what annoying nickname Spain gave him, it still meant something wonderful to the Italian. Trudging through the sand and towards the fire where the Spanish personification sat, he noticed that there were fresh assortments of seafood and complimentary wine placed on a small table in between two reclining chairs. Romano quickly took a seat and turned to examine Spain’s profile glowing by the campfire he had set up. The Spaniard’s bright green eyes appeared as energetic and mesmerizing as ever when they were lit by the flames and moonlight. He smiled widely when he noticed the curious look on Romano’s lovely face.

“So do you like it? I ordered all this from a nearby place called Victor’s, I think, and they gave us free wine too!” Spain celebrated, pouring the liquor in their glasses. The Italian blinked rapidly as he tried to think of what to say in response, and yet he was speechless. It was too much for him and he tried to handle all his emotions that threatened to burst out. While scooting himself closer to the table, Spain took notice of his love’s torn expression and voiced his concern.

“Lovino? Are you alright? I-It wasn’t too much, was it? Because… I-I mean I didn’t kno-“ he stopped rambling when he felt the younger nation’s palm resting on top of his own. The Spaniard looked up to meet watery gold flecked green eyes that shone with heartfelt emotions as they enveloped his entire being.

“I-I… It’s been a long time since someone has prepared a s-s-surprise like this for me, and it’s just a little overwhelming,” the smaller personification stated, making sure that his voice refrained from cracking else he be seen as a weakling. But then he made a halfhearted smile and blushed a tad. “B-But in a good kind of way, bastard.” Spain watched Romano for awhile as the younger man struggled to crack open his lobster, and then laughed to himself. _He is so awkward and cute._

After finishing up their dinner and simply staring at the cloudless night sky, a harsh gust of wind suddenly blew in their direction, carrying the fire with it. Spain was the first to notice the direction in which the flames were going towards, and he quickly pulled Romano out of his chair, sending both men tumbling in the sand. The Italian’s head rested on his saviour’s shoulder as the two tried to catch their breaths. Brushing the grains from his clothes, Spain stood up and supported Romano as he carried the other to his feet. The fire that had once been blazing and warm had been extinguished by the winds, and the Spaniard involuntarily shivered as he remembered that the air was quite cool, if not a bit chilly.

Instantly, Romano cuddled closer to an initially shocked Spain as he sneezed and buried his head in the taller man’s chest.

“I f-fucking _h-hate_ c-cold w-weather,” he mumbled, his body shaking more and more with each passing second. Hearing this hurt the Spaniard’s heart, and he pulled his arm around Romano so that both were hugging each other. Despite his words, the Italian’s skin felt hot to the touch, so his body warmed Spain up efficiently.

“Si, Lovi, I don’t like it either. Let’s try and move a little so that we don’t freeze to death from staying still,” he said softly into the other’s ear, earning a vigorous nod in return. Slowly but surely, the two personifications walked towards the water with careful steps, one arm tightly around the other. Romano was becoming increasingly embarrassed by the way Spain’s calloused yet gentle hands glided up and down his body with ease, for  it made him feel flustered and dizzy beyond belief. The Spanish man mistook his inability to walk as having been caused by the cold, and his grip around the Italian’s torso tightened, pulling them even closer than before.

They stopped at a lamppost that was nearest to the inn and laid back on to the sand, their arms still linked just as firm as they had been while walking. Simultaneously, both men turned to look at the other and their gazes locked. Romano’s face was beet red and his eyes were half lidded, and Spain’s demeanor was like a mirror image of his. Without even noticing that they began to sit up, the two men were hypnotized by their love’s presence and their hands unconsciously tightened around one another. Merely a few centimeters separated their noses and neither acknowledged the short distant with discomfort.

“Antonio, what are we?” the Italian questioned with shyness written plain as day on the man’s crimson features. Spain took notice of his ‘intimate’ name being used, but chose to stay occupied on more important matters and answered honestly with honey glazing the tone of his voice.

“Whatever you want us to be, Lovino.” The Italian didn’t seem satisfied with that answer and inquired once more.

“And what if you don’t want what I want?” Spain brought his hands to the sides of Romano’s face and rested their foreheads against each other.

“Well, what is it that you want?” Electricity and sparks practically made up the ambience around both men as neither knew what to expect next, but looked forward to it all the same.

“It’s nothing that I can explain with words,” Romano whispered, and Spain lifted his face so the tips of their noses were touching.

“Then show me.”

The Southern Italian didn’t need another push—nor did he have a doubt in his mind that those words were anything less than an invitation— so Romano closed his eyes and moved forward, pressing their lips together. The kiss was short, sweet and fleeting, but it meant so much more to them than anyone else would ever understand. Years that turned to decades and decades that turned to centuries, both had waited long enough for their feelings to reach one another in such harmony that it amazed the two even then.

After choosing to open his eyes once more, Romano met his love’s green orbs at such a close range, and yet he didn’t mind. Yes, it was embarrassing, and yes, he felt the urge to flee out of nervousness, but the yearning to hear Spain’s reassuring words was what made the Italian stay still.

“Te quiero más de lo que nunca te podrás imaginar, Lovino.”

“Ti amo più di qualsiasi cosa al mondo, Antonio.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of Denor in here, eh?  
> Rough Translation:  
> Spain- I'll love you more than you'll ever know [in Spanish]  
> Romano- I love you more than anything in the world [in Italian]


	13. Singing Leads to Love

A soft snore awoke Spain from his sleep as he slowly opened his eyes to find Romano’s angelic resting face inches from his own. Recalling the events that took place last night, the Spaniard smiled and pulled his love closer, kissing the younger nation’s forehead. Both had confessed their true feelings for one another and sealed it with a kiss, but that was as far as it went. Afterwards, they walked to their room and immediately went to sleep, aware of what the next day’s travels had to offer.

 Despite his comfort with their current relationship status, deep down Spain wished to do a lot _more_ than just kissing his irresistible Italian, yet he knew that it wasn’t right without getting the other’s permission. _Still, with him cuddled next to me like this— wearing such an adorable expression to boot— you’d think that Lovi is **deliberately** teasing. But that can’t be the case, right?_

The digital clock resting on their bedside table read ‘7: 18’ and the Spanish man knew that if they didn’t check out soon they would be behind schedule, so he slowly sat up and poked Romano’s cheek.

 “Wake up, Lovi~!” he sang, but the Italian didn’t seem to be affected and merely mumbled incoherent words in his sleep. Spain frowned and tried again.

“Loooovviii, waaake uuuup. We have to go sooon~!” Still, no response came from the resting personification. As cute as the display was, time was of the essence, so the Spaniard leant near his love’s ear and gently blew into it.

“Despierte, mi amor,” he whispered in a raspy voice, immediately awakening Romano from his somnolent stupor. Realizing that it was just Spain, he blushed heavily and rolled onto his side, plagued by lethargy. The older nation groaned with fatigue and gently scooped Romano into his arms, making the Italian gasp with surprise. Holding him close, Spain slid their covers off both their bodies and cupped Romano’s face lovingly, planting a sweet kiss on the other’s lips. Reacting almost instantly, the younger nation melted into Spain’s touch and grasped his shirt, pulling him closer.

Romano still couldn’t believe that he and the Spaniard were being so intimate after he had become accustomed to the awkwardness and distance that both had kept before. Yet everything felt so _right_ , and suddenly the atmosphere in the room changed as Spain slipped his tongue into the willing Italian’s mouth. He let out a small moan and tried to understand the sensations that were coursing through his body when the Spaniard pulled away. Romano didn’t want to admit it, but he almost whined in protest from the sudden action, mostly because he wanted more. _When did I start becoming so greedy?_

“Good morning, my love. We should wake up like that every day,” the Spanish personification suggested, showering his sweetheart with short pecks on his warm cheeks. Flustered and crimson, Romano lightly nudged the older man a bit and walked into the bathroom to get ready for their departure. After several minutes of Spain trying to get the Italian’s attention by slipping his arms around the grumpy nation [constantly being rejected, of course], they were finally dressed and packed up, anticipating their leave from the inn.

Entering the Jeep with a sigh, Romano pulled out his map that displayed the route from Massachusetts to Indiana and relayed the instructions while occasionally spouting playful insults at his Spanish love. Spain relished every moment of the attention with an ecstatic expression constantly present on the man’s face.

During their drive on the Interstate 78 the Italian nation pondered on what he should call his companion after their confession.

_Is he my boyfriend now? Ugh, somehow I don’t really think the title has as much meaning as the word ‘lover’. But then again, we haven’t had s-sex [yet, god damn it] so I can’t say that it’s the appropriate term for what we currently are. Still, I like lover much more… and I’d **like** to be his lover, if Antonio is fine with that. Judging by the way he kissed me this morning, I’m positive that the horny bastard feels the same._

Romano thought back on their kiss in the inn, and how he felt an unfamiliar sensation that was somehow pleasant yet peculiar. He had never experienced anything like it before, but because the response was induced by Spain, Romano realized that it must have had something to do with romance and the like.

The Italian nation had never been with anyone before the Spaniard, nor did he have his first kiss with anyone besides him [Italy didn’t count because they had brother kisses]. Not to mention Romano was a virgin, which he _knew_ would be extremely embarrassing when the time came to tell Spain.

“Lovi? Do I turn here?” his Spanish driver asked, snapping the Italian out of his dazed state.

“No, keep going straight and then merge onto the I-81,” he answered while going over the map once more. “We still have a long way to go and it’ll be dark in a few hours, so I’ll tell you where to pull over; I don’t want us driving at night.” Spain nodded in agreement and diverted his attention onto the road once more, sometimes casting sideward glances in Romano’s direction. The Italian nation appeared to be staring into nothingness with a bored look on his face, so Spain decided that he would lighten up the mood a bit. Reaching for the DVD player, he pressed the power button to see what would play.

“ _YOU A STUPID HOE, YOU A, YOU A STUPID HOE. YOU A STUPID HOE, YOU A, YOU A STUPID HOE. YOU A STUPI-_ “ Romano immediately screamed [in a ‘manly’ way] and slammed the eject button on the player, violently throwing Nicki Minaj’s accursed disk out of their Jeep.

“BRUCIARE ALL’INFERNO!!!” the Italian shouted at the top of his lungs, panting heavily as he tried to rid his brain of the mind scarring song he had heard. Spain, too, cringed when the tune started playing, but because he was driving the Spaniard had to maintain concentration.

“Fucking America and his fucking shitty taste in music I mean seriously what the fuck is his problem he must have spent all his energy fucking England’s brains out and never bothered to learn a thing or two about REAL fucking music I mean SERIOUSLY what the actually fuck-” and Romano continued to ramble in an infuriated manner without taking a breath. His Spanish companion smiled at the obvious reaction and reached into the side compartment to pull out a CD case [while keeping his eyes on the road, of course].

“What are you doing, bastardo?” the Italian asked as he watched Spain insert another disk into the player with a calm expression. Blowing a low whistle, the  older man merely smiled mysteriously as both waited for the music to start.

“’Tell me when will you be mine,’” Spain sang as Romano kept his wide eyes on him. “’Tell me quando, quando, quando. We can share a love divine. Please don’t make me wait again.’” The Italian realized that he knew the song and continued listening to his love’s heart melting voice. But no sooner than he thought, Romano was singing along, and it made Spain smile widely as both joined the music in harmony.

“’When will you say ‘yes’ to me? Tell me quando, quando, quando. You mean happiness to me. Oh, my love, please tell me when.’” While the two sang as loud and beautifully as they could, Romano and Spain shared an equal amount of euphoria and joy from their sweet moment. When the song was over, a slower tune started playing and neither of them chanted along, choosing to enjoy the music instead.

“You’re an amazing singer, my Lovi,” Spain confessed, his cheeks shaded crimson red as the Italian studied him. He let out a small giggle—still a bit dizzy from their sing along—and uncharacteristically leant over to give the Spaniard a peck on his cheek.

“You told me that already, idiota,” Romano said with a light spirited tone, making his love’s heart rate race and flushed his face even more so. _Damn it, if I wasn’t driving I would **so** jump Lovi right now._ Giving in to his wishes, Spain swerved the Jeep over in an isolated location and pulled his Italian into a sloppy but passionate kiss. Invigorating moans and gasps escaped both of their lips as the nations’ bodies heated up and made _certain_ organs lively. Romano clawed at the Spaniard’s shirt as his head spun, trying desperately to find something to hold on because his emotions were simply _too much_.

Spain began licking and sucking the younger man’s neck, aware of his love’s surprised yet pleased sighs and enjoying himself. The Italian’s skin was blazing [as was the Spaniard’s] and he mumbled words that seemed to escape both of their notice, for they were too caught up in their heavy panting to even care about minor details.

 By then the two understood perfectly well that if they didn’t control themselves then things would get out of hand fast. Romano was the first one to take action, reluctantly putting his hands on Spain’s shoulders to push him away gently. Said Spaniard made a sad face and pouted at the rejection, followed by a sly smile as he conjured an idea.

“W-We n-need to g-get going, ba-ba-AHHH~!“ The Italian couldn’t finish because Spain had snuck his hands up the man’s shirt, massaging his nipples with slow and delicate fingers. Immediately, they hardened at the touch and enjoyed the Spaniard’s contact very much, despite Romano’s wishes to stay on task. Though the action was bold, the Spanish nation wanted to ‘play’ with Romano a little while longer, so he threw all morals figuratively out the window and just went for the kill. His love was gasping for air while Spain continued to smother him with his lips, still rubbing at the Southern Italian’s sensitive skin.

Trying to gain control of the situation once more, Romano bit the Spaniard’s lip with frustration, but little did he know that the action had awoken Spain’s animalistic tendencies. When the younger man _did_ notice the lust glazed eyes that his partner staring at him with, he felt himself getting excited in _all_ of the places on his body.

_Oh shit_.

“Aww Lovi, I didn’t know you were _this_ flirtatious,” the seductive Spaniard remarked, smiling widely when Romano turned several shades redder. He could tell that the other was eyeing his curl with dirty intentions, and didn’t want to think about what would proceed if he succeeded in yanking it. Well, not that he wouldn’t _like_ it, but it just wasn’t the time and place at that moment for such activities… unfortunately.

“N-No I didn’t mean it like that!” Romano sputtered nervously, not sure of what to do next; after all, he had unintentionally aroused his already lascivious lover, so he was partially at fault. If the nation were a cat, Spain would have purred enthusiastically, because the sounds he made were so provocative that Romano had a hard time focusing. Not to mention his pants felt a bit too tight for his liking. _Fucking **hell**._

“Oh~? Then what exactly _did_ you mean, mi querido?~” The confidence in Spain’s voice began to annoy [and attract] the Italian nation, of whom automatically blushed on impulse and lightly battered his companion’s arms away. Noticing that he was upset, Spain decided that it was best to use self restraint, and he held Romano in a loving embrace instead of ravishing the man like he desired to.

“Lo siento, cariño, sometimes I can’t stop myself when it comes to you because you are just too beautiful and irresistible and amazing for me to bear,” he apologized, petting his partner’s soft hair with a kind touch. Grateful for the change, Romano pulled the Spaniard closer and let out a deep breath. _I forgive this idiot far too easily than I’d like to admit_ , he thought bitterly.

“Men aren’t supposed to be beautiful, nor cute, bastardo. And as long as you keep yourself in line, we won’t have a problem,” the smaller nation assured, looking up so that both of them saw each other eye to eye. Spain smiled softly and moved his head a bit lower to place a chaste kiss on Romano’s forehead.

“Alright, love.”

It was dark by the time they found a place to stay, that of which was a station that offered lodges for travelers. Their particular cabin was at the farthest end of the lot in a secluded area surrounded by trees, meaning that privacy was a given bonus. After entering the wooden dwelling and placing their bags in a secure place, Romano stretched his limbs a bit, sore due to sitting in the Jeep for so long. Then he caught the look of disappointment on Spain’s face and turned his attention to where the Spaniard was staring; at the beds, which weren’t very large or stylish.

“They gave us separate beds,” he muttered sadly while a metaphorical cloud of dread suspended above him. The younger nation cocked his head to the side with a quizzical expression, clearly confused by the complaint.

“So?” he asked, sitting on the couch next to his depressed companion. Spain looked at him with alarm, and then a beaming smile appeared on the once-gloomy nation that automatically made Romano suspicious.

“You’re right! It’s even better because we can share a small bed and cuddle~” the Spanish man enthused happily as he wrapped his arms around Romano. The younger personification gawked at his partner for awhile, not sure of how to react, until a sudden realization hit him.

He liked that. He liked it _a lot_. And all those sensations that he had experienced during their hot make out session in the Jeep came flooding back into his system, influencing the Italian to shiver with pure delight. Caught in a whirlwind of emotion, Romano forcefully pushed his love down so that he was hovering above the man, and then the smaller one of the two pressed their lips together. Spain was momentarily in shock, but then recovered quickly, embracing the Italian and pressing their bodies together. _I can’t believe Lovi actually took the initiative for once, but I like it~!_

Passion and love was what each man communicated to the other, with tongues and touches as their messengers. Neither was dominating the kiss— for there was still a battle going on between both nations’ mouths— and Spain could feel himself growing more frustrated with each passing second as his clothes became a hindrance to the man. Breaking away for a brief time, he stated his desires breathlessly with a flushed face.

“L-Lovi, I-I-“ but before he could finish, the Spaniard was cut off with a kiss.

“Do what you want, bastard.” And that was all the motivation Spain had needed. With one swift movement, he lifted the Italian off of the couch and into his muscular arms, ignoring the small protests Romano made. Placing his love gently on the bed, he removed both of their coats and snuggled up next to the furiously blushing nation.

“Now please turn around, Lovi,” Spain requested softly, and Romano gladly complied, nervously awaiting what his partner wished for him to do. Moving his body so that it was facing the opposite direction away from the Spanish man, he was shocked when he felt hands suddenly unzipping his jeans.

“C-Cosa stai facendo?” Romano inquired with a shaky voice. The Spaniard noticed his uneasiness and gently stroked his love’s hair.

“I’m not going to make love with you… _tonight_. We don’t need to rush things anymore than we already have, Lovino,” Spain stated calmly, nipping the shell of Romano’s ear while sending hot breaths down the smaller nation’s neck. Even though he was in a state of absentmindedness, the Italian knew that what his love was saying was the truth, and he was perfectly fine with taking it slow. So he nodded slowly, trying hard not to moan in an embarrassing way while the Spaniard licked the back of his neck.

“Umm, my love, I need your permission for this… Am I allowed to… touch you?” he questioned with a hint of uncertainty in his voice. As flustered and nervous as Romano was, he felt the need to laugh at that moment. Twisting his neck back slightly, both men’s eyes met and the Italian caressed Spain’s soft hair with a sheepish smile on his face.

“Y-You don’t need to ask because I trust you, Antonio. L-Like I said earlier, you can do whatever you want… w-with me.” Turning crimson with a goofy smile, the Spaniard pecked his love’s cheeks, giggling a bit as he did so.

“Fusososo, I feel so loved~!” he sang, and then returned his hands to where they were placed moments ago. Romano felt goose bumps form on his hot skin as Spain stuck his hand into the Italian’s boxers, immediately reaching for his sensitive member.

“Ngh!” The younger man’s reaction was to curl his toes tightly and make the most _heavenly_ sounds that Spain had ever heard, arousing him even more. Slowly, the Spaniard continuously slid his calloused hands up and down Romano’s _already dripping with pre-cum_ cock and clenched his teeth with irritation. _If he keeps being adorably sexy like this, I might just lose control._ It didn’t help that the cry Romano had tried so _much_ to contain finally broke out from his lungs, immediately sending shivers down Spain’s neck. _Shit._ The older nation was hard and couldn’t contain himself much longer as he forcefully spun the Italian around, smashing their lips together and letting his tongue trail down every inch of Romano’s alluring olive complexion.

“An-Anto-“ the Italian tried to speak, but was constantly stopped by his Spanish partner’s advances. He was becoming more and more aggressive, and it scared Romano a bit, yet he also felt a rush of excitement and need. _So this is what full out lust feels like._

“Lovino, I need you to do something for me,” Spain said in a hushed tone, gaining the attention of his flustered partner. “Please touch me.” Romano’s head started spinning uncontrollably and he felt as if he were going to overheat at any moment.

“Wha- B-But you, you, you,” he began, but couldn’t find the proper words to express his thoughts and emotions. Touch Spain? Sure, the Italian had dreamt of doing so forever, but to actually do it in real life was an entire matter all together. Seeing the needy look in his love’s eyes, Romano didn’t know what to do as his mind went blank.

“Pl-Please, Lovi, I _need_ you to do this for me, and I want _only_ you,” the Spaniard begged, already noticing that his Italian partner looked like he would agree. “If I don’t have you t-touching me, I might just do something I don’t want to do… _yet_.” The malicious tone Spain used when speaking of their soon-to-be sex made the Italian feel hot and he nodded slowly in agreement, because of _course_ he was willing to make the Spaniard feel good at all costs.

“O-Okay, but I d-don’t know what to d-do,” he admitted sadly, feeling rather ashamed of himself. Spain smiled gently and pulled his love even _closer_ than before, guiding the Italian’s hands to his hardened manhood under the Spaniard’s boxers. Romano felt embarrassed and shivered as he could feel the slick sweat and bodily fluids running down his love’s dick, hopelessly lost on what to do. Squeezing his eyes shut, the Italian gently slid his olive hands up and down Spain’s member, blushing even more when he heard the sounds that the older man was making.

“Agh, y-yes, like th-that Lovi~” Gathering all his courage, Romano opened his eyes to meet lustful green ones, and he instantly moved forward to kiss the Spaniard. Surprised, but not displeased, Spain reciprocated the action and both men continued their hot make out session, even when the bigger nation started straddling the Italian. Romano stopped pumping as he became more aware of the way Spain’s eyes travelled over his body. Although the two were still clothed, their zippers where undone and the younger man’s shirt was halfway unbuttoned, exposing his unblemished skin.

Spain leant forwards and left marks that were sure to turn purple in a few days, making Romano’s cheeks go in flames [not literally, of course]. He smiled down hungrily on his lovely Italian and yanked the man’s shirt off, followed by the removal of his own.

“Wh-What are you doing?” Romano asked with a trembling voice, anxious of what was to come. The Spaniard kissed his forehead chastely before placing his hands on his love’s legs.

“I’m going to take your pants off, and then mine,” the Spanish nation stated in a casual manner, clearly un phased by the resolute words he had spoken. Eyes widening with shock, Romano didn’t know how to react, but luckily Spain had read his expression and understood the Italian nation’s thoughts. He walked over to the other end of the room and flicked the lights off.

“Don’t worry, mi amor, I’m not going to do anything. I just thought we should cuddle in our boxers since its cold and the bed is kind of small.” Thinking for a minute, the younger man nodded his head in agreement [although still sporting his signature blush] and beckoned his lover with wide arms.

“Th-Then stop standing over there and c’mere,” he mumbled embarrassingly, annoyed by the joyous squeal Spain made along with the continuous phrase, “So cute so cute so cute~”. After both stripped themselves of their boxers with little difficulty, Romano was calmed by the feeling of the Spanish man’s arms wrapped around his body. Said Spaniard stroked the Italian’s hair and rubbed the tips of their noses together, making his love frown with agitation.

“Dulces sueños, Lovinito. Mi amor, mi querido, mi cariño y mi vida,” Spain mumbled next to his love’s ear, the tone of his words making Romano feel warmth and chills at the same time. He snuggled his face in the Spaniard’s chest, earning another delighted giggle, and closed his eyes.

“Yeah yeah, you sappy bastardo, buonanotte… caro,” he muttered, thankful that Spain couldn’t understand Italian.

“Umm, that means ‘dear’ right?” Or not. The younger nation stiffened and refused to look his love in the eye, far too embarrassed for words to describe. Caught up in sheer bliss, Spain laughed softly as he tightened his hold on Romano.

“Ah, mi tesoruccio, ti amo~!” he confessed proudly, making the Italian realize that he liked it when the older man spoke Italian. Coughing inelegantly, Romano decided to swallow his pride and give Spain a bit of a reward.

“T-Te quiero, m-mi Corazon,” the Italian muttered under his breath, though the affectionate phrase was not unheard by the Spaniard, of whom rained kisses on Romano’s cheeks with glee. Eventually he had to yell at the older man— for he was keeping the smaller nation awake— and as the two of them settled down, a thought occurred to both men before they slept:

_How the hell am I supposed to sleep peacefully knowing that **he’s** next to me, vulnerable as ever?!_

Somewhere in another state, France and Prussia were laughing ecstatically with amusement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song that made Romano chuck America's CD out of the window was "Stupid Hoe" by Nicki Minaj [I'm not trying to offend anyone that likes her music, I just don't think that Romano would appreciate it] and the song both nations sang was "Quando Quando Quando" by Engelbert Humperdink.


End file.
